


Wizards and Werewolves Don't Mix

by RenkaWrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gratuitous Cursing(Fenrir mostly), M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mpreg, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Post-War, Werewolf Culture, Werewolves, based off the film Fools Rush In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 86,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenkaWrites/pseuds/RenkaWrites
Summary: When Fenrir Greyback spends a passionate night with Harry Potter, the last thing he's expecting is to start a relationship with the young wizard. But when Harry turns up pregnant, what is a werewolf to do?





	1. Crossing Paths

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The world and characters of Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling(obviously)
> 
> Taking a page out of some of my fellow fanfiction writer's books, I'm basing this story off a fun rom-com(It may be a dying film genre, but I still have a soft spot for romance/humor). In this particular case, this fic is based off the film "Fools Rush In" starring Matthew Perry and Salma Hayek. It's a cute story that I've decided to adjust into a Fenrir/Harry fanfic as a little writing exercise. It's been a little while since I read the books/watched the movies so there may be some oversights. As you can guess, I'm posting this fic in the wake of the premiere of "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them".
> 
> This is my very first Fenrir Greyback/Harry Potter fanfic(as well as my first Harry Potter fanfic), so please let me know what you think! Comments are always appreciated.
> 
> (Any additional warnings will be posted by chapter)

Fenrir Greyback has been known throughout the entire magical world as **the** werewolf of all werewolves(the very personification of the monster that goes bump in the night), for most of his adult life—then again, he has worked quite hard to achieve his infamy.

 

Yet, contrary to his monstrous reputation, Fenrir Greyback has never been a stupid man.

So, after the fall of Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, the werewolf had immediately went to work making sure he and his fellow werewolves had a place under the new magical regime.

Fenrir's position as Lycan Lord may have been self appointed, however it is a role that he takes with utmost seriousness. The savagery that the alpha wolf has always been known for was originally cultivated for a purpose—protecting his packs and the others that follow him. Survival, of himself and his kind, has always been second nature to the man. Fenrir's past method of turning children, while controversial, has achieved his goal and brought back Europe's werewolf population from the brink of extinction. Lycanthropy, once regarded as an _affliction_ has now been properly classified into a group of people that could no longer be ignored, no matter how vehemently certain members of the Ministry of Magic fought to do so.

But, instead of siccing his packs on the wizards of England as expected, Fenrir surprised them all. He offered their assistance in the post-war Wizarding World, quid pro quo, of course. With his acumen for striking deals(A skill he may or may not have picked up from the Dark Lord), Fenrir Greyback narrowly avoided Askaban and execution while simultaneously helping to rewrite the laws regarding the rights of all werewolves. The wizarding world's persecution, discriminatory policies, and "Kill-on-sight" orders regarding werewolves(and by extension other "dangerous" magical creatures) are now history. 

And at the moment, the lycan is on his way to meet with the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, himself.

Walking through the hallowed halls of the Ministry, Fenrir's imposing figure doesn't quite fit into the polished wizarding institution. The man's worn leather coat stretches across his broad chest, the heavy fabric swaying behind him with each stride. His piercing blue eyes size up the witches and wizards that quicken their pace as quickly as possible in the opposite direction from the notorious werewolf. A smirk appears on Fenrir's face at the discomfort his presence instills in them. Yet, despite the fleeting entertainment of scaring Ministry employees, the man quickens his steps. The wolf inside the man has always hated the oppressive building.

Navigating the world of wizarding politics is as deadly as the dense forests Fenrir's packs call home at times, even with the changes being made to the rigid Pureblood policies. The bureaucracy and underhanded manipulations emanating throughout the building always sets Fenrir's instincts on edge as they directly clash with the straightforward pack dynamics he's known most of his life. With a grumble to himself, the werewolf continues his journey through the torch-lit marble corridors.

Upon reaching his desired location, Fenrir walks right by the sputtering receptionist. The witch pleads to let her warn her employer of his arrival, but it falls onto deaf ears as Fenrir marches right into the office of the Minister of Magic. His lips curl into an amused grin and expose a hint of fang.

"Hullo, Minister."

At the mocking tone of the greeting, the man looks up from his paperwork. Minister Shacklebolt full lips are set in a firm line as he looks over the werewolf.

"Fenrir Greyback, to what do I owe the pleasure?" greets Kingsley, his deep eyes taking in the creature before him.

"Thought you'd like to know that those upstarts in the Black Forest you were worryin' about are no longer a problem."

"Already? You only left a few days ago."

Rolling his eyes at the honest surprise written on the other man's dark face, Fenrir makes himself comfortable in one of the chairs before the Minister's desk. The infamous werewolf not caring one bit that the furniture was a hand-carved gift from the Silvan elves before resting his feet on it. 

"You wanted 'em gone, right? You should be grateful you won't be losin' anymore of your precious aurors."

"I am grateful," The Minister acquiesces. "Pardon my surprise at your _efficiency_. It took some of our best Aurors an entire month just to pinpoint the location of their base of operations."

"When will you wizards learn not to send an Auror to do a werewolf's job? That was always Voldemort's problem. You lot depend too much on your sticks and yer schemin', which do you shite much good in the depths of a dark forest. That's _our_ domain," states Fenrir, his words turning into a growl. "My betas are taking them to Askaban as we speak."

"Excellent," remarks Shacklebolt, impressed by the werewolf's productivity. "If the public wouldn't have my head, I'd start recruiting some of my aurors from your packs."

"Get this straight, _Minister_. We _aren't_ your errand boys. We're _Werewolves_. Those bastards were havin' their little _meeting_ on pack territory. Yer lucky there's enough left of 'em to take to Askaban."

As part of the treaty between the werewolves and the Ministry, Fenrir and those that follow him have been almost exclusively tasked with rounding up the last remnants of the Death Eaters and their supporters. The Auror Department is stretched rather thin as it steadily recoups it's numbers after the war and is unable to squash all the uprisings on its own. Fortunately, werewolves make excellent Death Eater bounty hunters with their heightened olfactory senses and natural immunity to most hexes. And since many of Voldemort's supporters fled into the dense forests or the old ruins of ancestral wizarding homes, the task is not difficult for an alpha werewolf and his beta wolves(Then again, even a year-old pup would be able to track down the strong, unmistakable scent of a wizard). Fenrir simply finds it amusing that he gets to hunt down the Pureblood wizards that used to look down on him, even though they were all supposedly on the "same side". For the alpha werewolf, it is even worth the annoyances of having to report to the Ministry of Magic.

_Sometimes._

"It is in both of our best interests to help each other, is it not?" The Minister counters, pulling the alpha from his thoughts. "In any case, I do have some good news for you today. I have it on good authority that we at the Ministry have one last job for you to do and then you and your pack will be left to their own devices. Keeping in mind that you all adhere to the terms of the treaty, of course."

Between the two men, the air sizzles with tension. Fenrir is irritated to be reminded of the freedom that the Ministry often dangles before him and his pack yet eager to finally be at the end of this _arrangement_. Kingsley however, is loathe to admit that the werewolves are actually a huge asset to his Aurors. He hadn't been joking in his earlier remarks, it is an idea that the minister makes note of to run by the young Head of the Auror department once he returns from his well-deserved vacation.

"I'm listenin', Kingsley."

At the gruff prompting, the wizard leans forward and rests his folded hands on the desk. He meets Fenrir's intense stare with an even gaze.

"The Forbidden Forest."

For a moment, nothing is said. Then, Fenrir simply cocks an eyebrow.

"Are you serious?" begins the larger man, a dark smirk on the wolf's face. "The Ministry really wants me and my pack around your precious students at Hogwarts?"

The scoff lacing the wolf's words makes the Minister of Magic lean back into his chair.

"The Forbidden Forest is a dangerous place," Kingsley begins again with a firm tone. "Too much of it has remained uncharted for far too long and the Ministry wishes to change that. After all, many parents would feel much better about sending their children away to Hogwarts if we all had a better idea of the terrain as well as its _residents_."

"I was under the impression that the Forbidden Forest was supposed to be dangerous. Isn't that's why you lot all call it 'Forbidden', _Minister_?"

Catching Fenrir's sarcasm and complete disregard for the Ministry's plight, Kingsley's expression quickly becomes one lacking amusement.

"Well, if you and your pack can take away a bit of that mystery, it would ease a lot of uncertainty and questions about the school's security. The forest was too much of a liability during The Dark Lord's return as well as the war."

The werewolf takes in the information as he reaches up to scratch the stubble on his chin. After a moment of silence between the two, Fenrir levels a look of unimpressed boredom at the man across from him.

"That all?"

It takes a considerate amount of effort for Minister Shacklebolt to not react. He simply sighs and continues his briefing to the alpha wolf.

"The Ministry wants it done before the next school term, so you have until then to complete this assignment. We'll also be sending a team of Aurors with you to help map out your findings."

"Don't need 'em."

"Still, they will be accompanying you, anyway."

Rolling his eyes, Fenrir crosses his arms.

"Then make sure you send ones that can keep up and contribute. I ain't some babysitter."

"You'll also have use of one of the Ministry homes just outside Hogsmeade," continues Kingsley, seemingly ignoring the werewolf's comments. His wand and attention busy transforming a iron key into a portkey. "This will take you to your temporary residence. My patronus will be keeping tabs on you and you may also use it to convey updates on your progress."

With a grumble, Fenrir stands up and takes the offered portkey before quickly stashing it in the folds of his coat. The lycan turns on his heel and heads towards the door. But before he leaves, Fenrir stops and turns back around.

"The Forbidden Forest is a place that won't welcome intruders. And some of the _residents_ won't take kindly to the Ministry pokin' around. Make sure that your Aurors aren't lackin' in their manners, they'll want to make a good first impression."

With that message and a cruel barking laugh, the werewolf leaves the office and heads straight for the Floo Network that brought him there in the first place—Fenrir Greyback fully intent on making his next stop a place low on wizards and(if possible) stocked with a good brew or two.

 

* * *

 

Downtown London is alive with the nighttime crowd. Couples of all types are on romantic dates and groups of friends fill the hip eateries and taverns. In a small pub known for its locally-brewed ales, Harry Potter(Savior of the Wizarding World and the youngest Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic) is using the graffiti-ridden payphone in back. The dark-haired wizard is currently doing his best to hear the person on the other end of the conversation over the din of the packed tavern.

"I know Hermione, but I'm not ready to tell Ron, quite yet. Ginny and I just broke up and we'll both tell him when we're ready . . . Look, I'll drop by the house later and we can have a long talk about it. . . . No, not tomorrow, I have to see Minister Kingsley about a new assignment first thing in the morning. I really have to go now, it's late enough as it is. . . Alright. Bye."

Hanging up the payphone, Harry returns to the line of patrons waiting for the bathroom. As always, it is impossibly long and unfortunately Harry _really_ has to use the facilities. Seeing a gap near the front of the line, the wizard smiles in relief. Green eyes don't notice that the reason for this particular gap is the intimidating man occupying the bulk of it. The stranger's own eyes are more focused on staring into space than any particular subject in the rowdy tavern. Taking advantage of his distracted gaze, Harry attempts to nonchalantly sneak into line. It isn't something he would normally do, but the young wizard had a pint before the phone call he just made and it apparently traveled right through him. Harry walks past the stranger as unassuming as he can muster and slips into the empty space right in front of the tall man. Once situated, Harry releases the breath he had been holding.

"Cutting in line, are we?"

Wincing at being caught, the wizard arranges his features as innocently as possible before turning around.

"Er, no. You see, I was here first actually. I just had to use the telephone over there. But, er, before I could end my call the line moved, you see."

For a moment, the man regards the youth with an amused grin. Sharp blue eyes take their time to appraise the lean body before him, lingering on the features he seems to like most about Harry. The intimidating stranger clearly seems to have no issue with how uncomfortable his appreciating gaze makes the green-eyed wizard. If Harry didn't know any better, he would swear that the man was relishing it.

"I think I'd remember waitin' behind you."

The deep timbre of the voice that leaves the man's mouth does things to Harry that no voice should be able to do. His widened eyes focus instead on the vaguely-familiar features of the man's face. Intense eyes stand out from the stranger's ruggedly-handsome features while traces of old scars stand out on the tan skin. The man's thick, grey-streaked hair is pulled back into a short ponytail, though the urge to run his fingers through it crosses the wizard's mind more times than he'd like to admit. The large body practically blocks the rest of the pub from Harry's view, almost forcing green eyes to rove over the muscle on display(even though it is partially hidden beneath the man's clothing). And while the wizard is still at a complete loss for words at the stranger's implication and grin, Harry is oddly flattered. 

"Er, thanks, I guess?"

"Oi! Back of the line, Scrawny! We've all been waitin' here to use the loo! You can't just cut in!"

Jolted from their private conversation(flirtation?), both Harry and the stranger turn to the blonde man that had shouted at them. The wizard opens his mouth to apologize, but is surprised when he is interrupted.

"He's with me. You got a problem with that, welp?"

The question isn't asked loudly, however the subtle, yet inarguable dominance in the stranger's voice shuts the blonde up immediately. Seemingly pleased with the submission, the large man returns his focus to Harry. 

"Thanks, you didn't have to do that," the wizard offers with an amused, yet grateful, smile.

"I wanted to," the man rumbles, closing the distance between them with a teasing grin. "After all, it's not everyday I get to enjoy the company of _the_ Harry James Potter. I wasn't going to let some rude muggle interrupt us."

At his full name, Harry's attention snaps immediately right back to the man's eyes. The high-level Auror is a bit happy that the man before him is no muggle, he knows how to handle wizards and magical creatures much better. Harry is instead focused on whether confirming the man's accurate identification of him is a good or bad decision in such a public place. 

"Who _are_ you?"

"I'm hurt, boy. We've met before. You'd think someone would remember meetin' a werewolf. Especially one of my caliber."

The last bit is whispered into Harry ear, and he can't tell if the resulting shiver is from the information or the man's proximity. Harry has only ever been personally acquainted with two werewolves in his life. The first being the late Remus Lupin, one of his father's best friends and father to his adorable god-son, Teddy Lupin. Pushing the emotions that stirs aside, Harry focuses his attention on the werewolf in front of him now. His eyes slowly widen in horrified recognition as his mind makes the connection to that intense, piercing-blue stare. It has been a few years and a completely situation since he's faced him, but even cleaned up and in different clothing, the werewolf's intimidating aura hasn't changed.

"Fenrir Greyback?"

"Aye, that's my name."

Harry is unsure how to react. Whatever initial twinges of interest he felt are hurriedly pushed away as his mind bombards him with all he knows about Fenrir Greyback. He had read some time ago in the Daily Prophet that the werewolf was working for the Ministry(Hermione had mentioned the man's surprisingly successful campaign for magical creatures). The young wizard has even assigned some Aurors to his detail once or twice. However, actually meeting the dangerous man in the middle of a muggle pub in downtown London is beyond surreal. Part of Harry is defensive as Fenrir is the one that turned Remus as a child and permanently scarred Bill Weasley, not to mention the countless others he had infected with lycanthropy. Another part of Harry is embarrassed that he hadn't instantly recognized the werewolf and even flirted with him. And yet, _another_ part of Harry is a bit fearful of the man that had been there when Dumbledore died, Fenrir had even volunteered to do the deed himself! The werewolf had been working directly for Voldemort, as an enforcer of sorts, though technically he was never branded with the Dark Mark. Taking a look around the pub filled with vulnerable muggles, Harry narrows his eyes as he firms his voice.

"If you even think of turning anyone, I'll-"

"Calm down, pup and put the wand away," interrupts Fenrir, instantly noticing the wizard's fingers move towards his pocket. "Neither of us are going to do anythin' surrounded by all these muggles, now are we? Besides, I'm just here on my way to official Ministry business. I've got no interest turnin' anyone, anymore."

Realizing that it would do neither of them good to start any trouble, Harry relaxes a bit. He straightens himself to his full height, not that it would do any good compared to the mountain of a man that is Fenrir Greyback. Still, it gives him a bit more confidence.

"Well then what exactly are you doing here? Last time I checked, the Ministry doesn't conduct 'official business' in muggle pubs."

"I just came to get a drink, like yourself. I can't stand that 'Butterbeer' you lot like to drink. Muggles could teach you wizards how to brew a proper dark ale."

At the unexpected reply, Harry is surprised to find himself laughing. The sound makes a warm grin appear on the werewolf's face.

"Hey, lovebirds, the line's movin!"

Throwing the blonde near the end of the line another withering look, Fenrir turns his attention back to the wizard.

"After you," offers the elder, his hand pushing the 'Savior of the Wizarding World' forward.

Following the man's nudge, Harry hurries into the loo, eager to hide his reddening face at the comment. However, the wizard pauses for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom.

"Um, thanks again for letting me skip in line. When I come back out, I'll treat you to a pint."

"I'll hold you to it."

A bathroom visit and a few drinks later, Fenrir and Harry find themselves sitting across from each other at a lone table in the pub. They are in an isolated corner so that their words won't be heard over the sounds of clinking glasses and multiple conversations around the room. The two make an odd pair, yet the alcohol has relaxed them both enough to enjoy each other's company.

"This is so weird," Harry murmurs after a deep swallow of rich ale.

"What is?"

"You and I, Harry Potter and Fenrir Greyback, having a chat over a pint. A photo of us right now would probably make the front page of _The_   _Daily Prophet_."

"You care too much about what others think."

The statement causes a tight laugh to leave Harry's throat.

"Easy for you to say, Greyback. I'm the 'Savior of the Wizarding World'. Everything I do becomes every wizard and witch's business, apparently."

"Doesn't have to be that way. You're young, still got plenty of time to make your own name for yourself if you like. Besides, soon enough, they'll find somethin' else to talk about. You gotta remember that now that Voldemort's gone for good, the news ain't as _interestin'_ as it used to be. Not that I'm complain', a little boring is appreciated every once in a while."

Considering the man's point for a moment, Harry finds himself grinning. A moment passes by as both men take a sip of their beers, the warm liquid flowing pleasantly down their throats. Harry flicks out his tongue to clear off the remnants of thick foam that has lingered on his lips.

"What about you?" asks the wizard, oblivious that he managed to transfix the powerful werewolf with a mere gesture.

"What about me?"

"You're _Fenrir Greyback_. That's a name with it's own problems, right?"

Recovering a bit, Fenrir leans forward in his seat. His features set as they regard the wizard before answering the rather loaded question.

"I'm not ashamed of the choices I've made, if that's what you're gettin' at, Potter. Bein' a werewolf isn't an easy life. Our kind have been hunted by both muggles and wizards alike and we've been treated like pests rather than respected for what we are, like any other magical creature. I refused to live in fear so I put terror into those that would hunt me for their own self-satisfyin' needs or simply to hang my pelt on their walls. Question my methods if you wish, but I made it so that we werewolves could no longer be ignored. At the end of the day, I'm no wizard and I'm no muggle, so I don't see much sense tryin' to live up to either of their standards. I live my life the way _I_ choose."

As Harry listens to the man, an odd understanding resonates through him. He can't condone the werewolf's past actions, yet it has an odd logic to it. "The Boy Who Lived" knows all too well what living in fear is like, then again being the target for the darkest wizard of all time does change one's perspective. Remembering the pain and persecution that Remus encountered in his own life for something that wasn't even his fault causes an incongruous sense of respect to tinge Harry's opinion of the infamous werewolf.

"I can respect that I guess."

"You, on the other hand," begins Fenrir as he looks over the wizard before him. "Are letting other people define you. In my experience, that never ends well."

At the man's blunt words, Harry eyes narrow indignantly.

"I don't _let_ anyone define me. I just know it's useless trying to change whatever "perfect" image of me that everyone else seems to already have on a proverbial pedestal. So, I just don't bother wasting my time. It's not my fault that I don't match their idea of who _Harry Potter_ is supposed to be. Now that the world is finally and completely Voldemort-free, I'm finally going to live my life, the way I want to."

"Now that, Harry Potter, I can respect."

As Fenrir takes a final swig to empty his glass, Harry uses the opportunity to once again study the large man before him. Now that he is in this odd conversation with the former associate of Voldemort's, the wizard can fully take in the werewolf features in the light of the now almost-empty pub. Harry is surprised by the conclusion that if they had met in a different situation, without the past hanging over them, he would have actively pursued their earlier flirtations. Fenrir is an undeniably attractive man, in both physical attributes and his allure. However, Harry's eyes appreciate the man's raw strength, knowing that if he chose to, Fenrir could demolish the table they are now sharing with ease. It is impressive regardless of the man's history. For some reason, the aura of raw power emanating from the alpha werewolf is both appealing and strangely comforting.

"Like what you see, boy?"

At the teasing tone directed at him, Harry scoffs. The wizard finishing the last of his own ale with an amused smile.

"You wish."

"Alright boys, the pub is about to close," interrupts the bar maid as she collects their now empty glasses and puts down the tab. Without looking at the bill, Fenrir hands her some cash to cover their tab.

"Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir," the woman replies with a smile. "Have a nice night, gents."

"I thought I was supposed to treat you?" asks Harry as the waitress walks away.

"You bought the first round, it's only fair I buy the last one."

Standing up to put on his jacket and check the time, Harry's eyes widen as he realizes that it is now well into that period of time that is simultaneously very late and very early. His surprise that he has been civilly conversing with the werewolf for almost three hours is overshadowed as the time sinks in.

"Damn it, I was supposed to catch the Underground. It's going to take at least an hour to walk back home," comments Harry as he and Fenrir walk out of the closing pub together.

"Just apparate. You have your wand."

"I barely like doing it when I'm sober, I'm not going to risk it when I've had a few," Harry informs, as he looks around hopefully for a taxi. "Knowing my luck, I'd end up splinching myself."

Adjusting his own coat, a thought crosses the werewolf's mind as the weight of Minister Shacklebolt's parting gift shifts in his pocket.

"Then come with me, I've got a house on the Ministry's tab with plenty of room. The Minister himself gave me a direct portkey to it. You can apparate back home when you've slept it off."

The streets aren't as filled as they were earlier that evening, however the wizard and the werewolf walk close to each other as they make their way along the London street. The muggles around them none the wiser of the magically-inclined individuals.

"Thanks, but I don't think that's a good idea, Fenrir," Harry replies, seemingly comfortable being on a first-name basis with the man. "Sharing a pint is one thing, sharing a room is quite another."

"Afraid of the big, bad werewolf?"

Harry once again finds himself smirking at Fenrir's dry humor as he shakes his head.

"Not really, I know how to transfigure wood into metals. Specifically silver, if the situation calls for it. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I know. The entire wizardin' world is well aware of that. But what kind of gentleman would I be if I left 'The Boy Who Lived' up to his own devices? After all, who knows what trouble your pretty face would get into, eh?"

Weighing his options, Harry considers Fenrir's offer. It's nowhere near the full moon so it's not like the lycan can turn him, even if he does bite him for whatever reason. And oddly enough, the wizard doesn't feel threatened by the werewolf. The man before him bears little resemblance to the beast he met the night Dumbledore died or during the war—not that the innate wildness isn't still there. Fenrir Greyback is a man(werewolf) that exudes danger, no matter how tempting he looks at the moment.

Turning to face Fenrir directly, Harry's emerald eyes lock with the alpha wolf's intense blue ones. With his decision made, the wizard speaks.

" _If_ I go with you tonight," the wizard begins cautiously. "No funny business, alright?"

Raising an eyebrow, Fenrir steps closer to Harry, having no issue invading the wizard's personal space. Harry assumes it must be a werewolf thing—an odd, yet deeply-rooted need to establish his dominance over him. Admittedly, he doesn't quite hate it.

"What exactly is it that you think I'll do to you, pup?"

Harry is frozen in place by the intensity of Fenrir's stare. The last time he had felt so immobilized by a stare alone, the wizard had been fearing for his life. However, this warm feeling now settling in his belly is far from terror. Harry finds himself inexplicably drawn in by the unwavering gaze as his body subconsciously leans into the larger one. 

"Fenrir, what's going on here?" whispers Harry, his eyes darkening as they return the werewolf's stare.

Raising a hand to cup the wizard's cheek, Fenrir's thumb lazily traces the seam of Harry's parted lips. The texture of the rough pad is a dizzying contrast to his lips. Harry finds himself enjoying the intimacy of the gesture as a soft moan tumbles out of his mouth. A shiver travels through the wizard's body as Fenrir answers it with a low, possessive growl.

"I dunno, but let's get out of here. I'm up for findin' out."

" . . . Okay."

Tugging the wizard into the nearest dark alley, Fenrir pulls the thin body flush to his own before activating the portkey. Seconds later, after a whirl of magic, Harry and Fenrir are standing in a simple cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The quaint yet comfortable décor of the house goes completely ignored as the two find themselves once again simply staring at each other. Harry is still in Fenrir's arms as neither the wizard nor the werewolf truly want to distance themselves from the other. The only real distance between the two is the few inches separating their lips.

Perhaps driven by his seemingly-innate need to tempt Fate, Harry is the one that leans in first to close the gap.

The instant his lips make contact with Fenrir's, the young wizard finds himself engulfed by the strength and power that he has been admiring for the last three hours or so. Yet instead of the raw passion he expected, he is met with the control of that power which proves to be even more arousing. An experimental grazing of lips quickly evolves into an intense exploration of each other's mouths as Harry can't help but try to break the werewolf's control with every soft swipe of his tongue and nip of his teeth. Overwhelming passion fuels them both as each man takes their turn switching control. Threading his fingers into the werewolf's thick hair, Harry tilts his head a bit to deepen their kiss. The wizard moans lightly in approval as low growls rumble in Fenrir's throat.

Without an exchange of words, Harry is effortlessly lifted up from the ground. His lean legs instinctively wrap around the werewolf's waist as the angle of their kiss changes. And despite the intense urgency of their current interactions, both men still take their time savoring the kiss. The two can't seem to get enough as their mouths move in tandem against each other. With a playful squeeze to Harry's bottom, Fenrir holds the lithe body tightly to him as he walks them both over to the bed.

The two continue kissing passionately while their shirts are carelessly ripped off their bodies and tossed out of sight and out of mind. Tanned, battle-scarred skin finally meets soft, pale flesh as the werewolf and wizard topple into the surprisingly-comfortable bed on the far side of the cottage. It is quite some time before Harry tears himself away from the intense kissing, rather reluctantly, to catch his breath. But as he lies there panting on the bed of Fenrir Greyback, the influx of oxygen manages to clear his mind of the thick fog of lust, even with the man's distracting caresses of his body.

"W-wait, _mmm_ , wait, Fenrir! This is a bad idea-"

"You were the one that kissed me first, Potter," growls out the wolf teasingly as he leaves the wizard's mouth to start kissing along the curve of Harry's throat. A whimper escapes the young wizard's lips as Fenrir's sharp canines graze his skin. "Now you have to deal with the consequences."

"Y-yeah, I know that. But kissing and _this_ are two different things."

Fenrir pauses in his teasing touches to level a confused stare at the young wizard. He is silent as he awaits the wizard's explanation, which only makes Harry more anxious.

"I don't do things like this, have sex with people I've just met in pubs. Not that there's anything wrong with it, it's just not what I do. I especially don't do it with _-ah!-_ other men," Harry rambles, before he is temporarily cut off by his own groan as Fenrir restarts his ministrations. The werewolf obviously pleased to discover a sensitive spot on the wizard's neck. "B-besides, I just broke up with Ginny-"

"I really don't give a shite about your past shags right now," states Fenrir bluntly. The large man is situated between Harry's spread-out thighs, his hands on either side of the wizard's head. The werewolf's grey-streaked hair is disheveled from Harry's eager, exploring fingers. "This is your call, pup, but if you don't stop me now, I can't guarantee I'll be able to stop later."

Harry stares up at the wild man above him as he turns over Fenrir's words in his mind. The lust-darkened eyes of the werewolf are focused on him, making the wizard heat up even more with their unwavering intensity. Hands that have done Merlin-knows what, slowly map out his body with a dual reverence and possessiveness that alights every nerve within Harry. And despite the glaringly-obvious reasons why he shouldn't continue this, it doesn't take long for the young wizard to come to a decision. 

With his mind set, Harry reaches up and wraps his arms around Fenrir's thick neck. With a gentle tug, the larger body is once again comfortably-settled on top of the wizard's lean one. Harry's hands travel down the man's chest and the toned abs, enjoying the feel of the werewolf's body hair and firm muscle. Hesitating at the waistband of Fenrir's pants for a moment, the wizard slides his hands back up the man's torso. The heat emanating from Fenrir is intoxicating enough, but the pure masculinity pouring off the aroused werewolf makes it an almost hallucinogenic combination. Harry's eyes lock with blue ones as his hands frame the man's face. After a heated moment, a soft whisper escapes Harry's kiss-bruised lips.

"I don't want you to stop, Fenrir."

And with those words, the dark-haired wizard is immediately overwhelmed by another smoldering kiss.

 

 


	2. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I just want to send out a HUGE thank-you to everyone that has left a comment, kudos, and is just enjoying this fic so far!(The love is greatly appreciated)  
> In this chapter the fun begins so I won't hold you all up with a long note, there's no warnings for this chapter.

When the mid-morning sun shines brightly into his Ministry-loaned cottage, Fenrir Greyback awakes with a grumble. The werewolf has never been a morning person. And to him, it makes no sense that while the village of Hogsmeade is perpetually covered in snow, the sun still manages to be its same irritating self. Rolling over in an attempt to escape the insistent, golden rays, the werewolf groans once again. This time, in a different type of frustration as the intoxicating scent of a particular young wizard teases his senses.

It has been almost two months since the night that Harry James Potter graced his bed. Yet no matter how many times they are cleaned(magically or otherwise), his bedding refuses to completely let go of the boy's scent.

As frustrating as it is at certain moments, Fenrir can never quite find it within himself to complain about the scent. The lingering remnant of the green-eyed wizard is what sends the man off to sleep and the first thing that greets him when he wakes every morning. And before Fenrir can even realize it, the scent(the only souvenir that the werewolf has of their passionate night together) becomes comforting as well as arousing.

The werewolf has spent more time then he'd like to admit reliving the details of that night.

Walking into that muggle pub, Fenrir had the sole intention of getting a good drink before heading out to do the Ministry's dirty work. He honestly had no thoughts towards procuring any other form of entertainment or company for the night. So, when Fenrir caught "The Boy Who Lived" himself trying to sneak in line, it had been by genuine and rather-pleasant surprise.

The werewolf barely recognized the young man as the teenager that had stood against and defeated Voldemort. In the years that had passed, lean muscle had defined the scrawny boy into a rather attractive man. Though the unruly dark hair had tamed a bit, large expressive green eyes still stared back through the wizard's trademark glasses. The iconic lightning bolt scar was still there, although it had faded ever so slightly. It no longer was such a stark contrast to the pale skin that covered the rest of Harry's body.

And speaking of that body—well, Fenrir would be lying to himself if he denied the audible growl that leaves his throat every time he thinks of it.

It was quite the surprise to learn that the Savior of the Wizarding World lost all of his self-consciousness and charming shyness in the bedroom. It was also a bit of a shock to learn that the young wizard was quite a vocal and equally-participating bed mate. But what truly struck the werewolf, was the intoxicating connection he felt to Harry. Fenrir had never felt that before with any of his previous partners. His rather impressive sex drive had always been satisfied with physical release, nothing more. The raw, natural chemistry that ignited with Harry had been instantaneous, culminating in a heated night that the man knows he won't soon forget.

Fenrir is also sure that he isn't alone in his fond recollection of that evening's events.

As he had rocked into Harry repeatedly that night, there was an openness in those emerald eyes. There was a vulnerability that the wizard didn't quite seem used to exposing to another person. Yet, judging by the pleasure on his face, the boy was willing to expose himself that intimately. Harry Potter, aided a bit by alcohol, had revealed a hidden, wild streak of his personality to the werewolf that only needed the slightest coaxing to encourage. Not that Fenrir had any problem being charged with that task—it had been far too long since he's been with such an enthusiastic, and surprisingly limber, lover.

Waking up the morning after that night, the man wasn't too surprised to find himself alone(It was a testament to the wizard that he had worn out the werewolf enough that Fenrir hadn't even stirred at his departure). Quite a few wizards and witches had been interested in a shag with the infamous werewolf over the years. Though it would have been nice to wake up from a night of phenomenal sex with a sleep-tousled Harry curled up next to him. Fenrir might have been able to work in another round, or two. 

Shaking his head of all thoughts connected to their passionate one-night stand, Fenrir begrudgingly makes his way out of his bed and into his clothes. The large man is successfully able to distract himself by falling into routine as he starts his morning. After all, Fenrir Greyback has a job to do, and it won't get done any faster fantasizing about Harry Potter.

So, an hour(and a large breakfast) later, the alpha werewolf finds himself in the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

Fenrir's attention is now focused on his current situation in the ominous woods, his senses attuned to even the slightest sound or scent. The werewolf has roamed this terrain before, yet the forest has many secrets that even he doesn't know. Fenrir has to admit that he's looking forward to thoroughly exploring the depths of the Forbidden Forest. Through the dense trees, he can just make out the newly-rebuilt Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The damage from the war is all but gone from the grounds, existing only in memory of those that fought the final battle there. Fenrir remembers that night well enough, but it hadn't really meant that much to him. In a lifetime of battles and wars, the Battle of Hogwarts was one of many. However, thinking back to that night, Fenrir suddenly makes the realization that Harry was there too, fighting for his life against Voldemort himself. It puts an odd perspective on things, reconciling Harry Potter as the Saviour of the Wizarding World as well as the current subject of his more primal desires.

Fenrir quickly lets go of that distracting train of thought in order to return to the task at hand.

The alpha werewolf leads the group further into the Forbidden Forest, flanked by his two betas Derrick and Scarlett. Trailing behind them are the three aurors sent by the Ministry(Fenrir didn't bother to learn their names). The sea of trees is oddly silent as the team makes their way through the dense foliage, the only sounds are the chatter of the wizards and the low hum of their cartographical spells. Fenrir and his beta werewolves are at full attention, just in case any of the local residents get a bit curious.

Suddenly, a long, deep howl is heard through the trees. A few startled yelps leave the wizards' mouths as the three werewolves chuckle to themselves.

"No need to be nervous," Derrick reassures them. The kind smile that graces his face softens the man's sharp facial features and shaved head. "Those wolves are from our pack."

The comfort that those words instills in the group of aurors is short lived. As not even a moment later, Derrick casually throws his head back and answers the howl with one of his own. The iconic lupine call sounding eerie from a human-looking mouth.

"Sounds like Espen just got here," informs Scarlett. The red-headed beta briefly scents the air before she continues. "His team probably had an issue rounding up those Death Eaters in Romania."

"Still, he got here earlier than I figured he would," Fenrir replies. "With Espen's team, we should be able to finish the initial walk-through of this quadrant today. We'll divide into two groups to map the area faster. It's mostly centaur territory, so it should be easy for the wizards to keep up."

Derrick and Scarlett nod in agreement to their Alpha's comment as one of the aurors approaches them. The witch's long dark hair is pulled into a bun on top of her head and seems to match the determined expression on her face. Fenrir is a bit impressed that the young auror manages to keep herself together as she addresses him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Greyback, sir?" begins the young witch. "Would you be able to escort us into the centaur settlement? Minister Shacklebolt wishes us to speak with them before we continue any further into their territory. The Ministry was adamant about maintaining our good faith relationship with Firenze and his colony."

Looking at the girl, Fenrir scratches his chin in thought. His stare purposefully intended to unnerve the witch before he replies. The werewolf grins when it proves successful.

"Permission, eh? They already know we're here, what's the use of askin' permission now?"

"What do you mean?" the witch asks as a sense of dread begins to form on her soft features. Her nervousness starts to peek through her professional facade.

"First rule of the Forbidden Forest: you don't just go for a stroll through these woods, girl. It'll get ya' killed. Second, make nice with the inhabitants if you want to leave here alive. You can never have too many friends in dark places," Fenrir states, his voice laced with dark humor. "Firenze and his kind have given us the rest of the day to finish our business here. Even so, you all best finish your work before sunset. That's when the _real_ dangers of this forest like to come out."

At the warning, the auror returns to her comrades. Her hurried steps prevent her from seeing the amused look on the alpha's face as well as his betas shaking their heads in fond exasperation. The three werewolves watch on as the three wizards start laying out a large roll of enchanted parchment. Their wands flit above it as they cast a series of spells and charms to fill in the blank areas. From his distance, Fenrir can tell that the map is being created using ancient scrying magic as the black-haired witch pulls out a set of rune stones. It is a more temperamental magic that most wizards nowadays avoid, yet it works well with the natural magic that seems to course through the entire Forbidden Forest.  Looking on as the aurors work, the werewolves keep their senses sharp. Even though they have permission to be here, Fenrir knows that the centaurs are vigilantly watching the group of werewolves and aurors on their lands.

 

* * *

 

The setting sun now casts a warm orange glow on the snow-covered grounds of Hogsmeade. As Fenrir walks out of the wizard village, his gait is even—the werewolf in no rush to return to his empty bed yet he doesn't want company(unless that company is a particular dark-haired wizard with a lightning bolt scar). The alpha wolf has left his betas and the aurors to their own devices back at the Three Broomsticks. The team has been celebrating the fact that due to their steady progress, they have earned a few days off. 

Cold winds whip around Fenrir's large form, teasing his grey-streaked hair as his breath fogs in front of him. His bulk and lycan nature leaves him immune to the gale's freezing bite but allows him to enjoy the clean scent of ice and snow. Yet upon approaching his isolated cottage, the werewolf is shocked by the new scent that gently wafts towards him.

There is no mistaking the mouth-watering scent that continues to tease Fenrir every time he drifts off to sleep.

With a feral grin, he is pleased to find Harry Potter, in the flesh, waiting on his doorstep. The young wizard hasn't seen him yet as evident by his worried pacing. Dressed in a thick coat and iconic gold and ruby-striped scarf, Harry's gaze is directed downwards as he walks back and forth on the small wooden porch. His pale bare hands are shoved into his pockets to stave off the chill. Fenrir raises an eyebrow at the boy's negligence, and decides to alert his guest to his presence.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to wear gloves in the cold, Potter? You wizards ain't built for this type of weather."

At the teasing words, Harry is startled out of his thoughts. Green eyes shift over to Fenrir nervously as the Head Auror runs his long fingers nervously through his dark hair.

"Fenrir, I err . . . Hi."

The bespectacled wizard seems to cringe at his own lame-sounding words. Fortunately, Fenrir doesn't give him long to dwell on it.

"This is a surprise. Didn't think I'd be seeing you so soon," starts the werewolf, his gaze intense trained on the younger man. "Or at all, really."

A wince crosses Harry's face as he takes a step closer to the much larger man.

"Yeah, about that. I'm sorry I left without a word last time, Fenrir. That was rude. I thought I should have left a note or something, but I wasn't really sure about the proper way to go about this sort of thing.  I've never done _anything_ like that night, _ever._ Especially with a man," rambles the wizard, blushing a bit as that night fully comes back to him. Harry takes a deep breath before he continues. "Umm, can we talk?"

"Aren't we doing that now?"

"I mean inside. In _private_."

Fenrir eyes fully take in the wizard before him as he scents the air around them. A hint of slight fear reaches the werewolf's nose, making him soften his features. He normally relishes the fear he inspires, but this time it just feels wrong. Without a word, the larger man walks towards Harry and reaches past him to open the door. Both men seem to freeze at the sudden proximity. Then again, last time they were this close to each other, the two weren't exactly in a vertical position. The werewolf pauses for a moment as he catches a whiff of arousal and effectively traps the wizard between his thick arms. For a few seconds, the green-eyed auror is caged by the man before he turns the doorknob. A knowing grin crosses Fenrir's strong features at the blush that continues to grow on his guest's face.

"Come on in, pup."

At the invitation, the wizard quickly turns and enters the home with the werewolf right behind him. Fenrir closes the door with a soft click once they are both inside. The two men stand before each other, a weighted silence stretches between them. In that time, Harry looks at Fenrir, then at his hands and then back up at the werewolf. His teeth absently worry his bottom lip, turning the tempting flesh a darker shade of pink. Fenrir releases a low growl at the rather distracting habit as he moves to take a seat on the nearby couch. The action seems to relax the nervous wizard, so the werewolf counts it as a win.

"So, did you come all the way here for a social visit or are you lookin' for some _other way_ to entertain yourself?"

The double-meaning behind the comment seems to go unnoticed by Harry. Fenrir raises an eyebrow as his lewd innuendo gains no reaction from the wizard. The best he can guess, Harry is choosing not to acknowledge it as he attempts to get his own words in order. 

"Fenrir, I came here because there's something I really need you to tell you. Er, something you really need to know.  _Merlin_ , this is harder to say than I thought it would be. Not that I ever thought I'd actually be saying this to anyone."

The werewolf exhibits an unusual amount of patience as he waits for Harry to say whatever he's come to say. When emerald eyes finally manage to lock with his, the wizard seems to relax and takes a deep breath. Then, without any other preamble, "The Boy Who Lived" says the one thing furthest from Fenrir Greyback's list of conversation starters.

"I'm pregnant."

At the declaration, Fenrir says nothing. He only stares at Harry, who is staring at him. The wizard seems to be waiting for some sort of reaction to his statement. However, for a few moments, there is none. Then, Fenrir blinks once, slowly, before he speaks.

"You're _pregnant_? As in, you've got a baby growin' inside of you?"

Harry nods at the question as he silently watches the other man fully process the information. Warily, the young wizard takes a few steps closer to the confused man. In any other situation, the wide-eyed expression on the alpha werewolf's face would be quite comical, but at the moment it seems to have Harry sincerely worried.

"Fenrir? Are you alright?"

At Harry's voice, the man looks up. Fenrir's brow furrows as he studies the body before him. This time, his gaze lacks any hint of sexual desire. Harry fidgets nervously under the intimidating scrutiny. It is a solid minute before Fenrir speaks.

"How the fuck are you pregnant? You're _male_. I would know if you weren't, had a pretty good look down there the last time. Unless somethin' chang— "

"Nothing changed down there!" Harry exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "I'm still very much male, thanks!"

"I don't get it then," trails off Fenrir as his thoughts run about in his mind. "You're really pregnant?"

The question is not an accusatory one, in fact it is asked in an odd tone of wonder. Fenrir has always thought of children in the abstract, as an obligation to continue his alpha line and eventually take over his packs. It has never been something he actively pursued or dedicated serious thought to, let alone who would mother his offspring. The werewolf most certainly would have never considered Harry James Potter. Despite all that, his mind is a complete blank. Fenrir can only stare at the young man before him nervously rubbing his hands together as he figures out how to respond to his question. The werewolf's piercing blue eyes are glued to the wizard's flat, sweater-covered abdomen as if they can actually see the growing child in Harry's body.

A deeply-pleased satisfaction settles in Fenrir as his inner wolf preens at this state of events. The creature is already imagining the slim wizard round with his cub. It takes every ounce of restraint the man has to resist pulling Harry into his lap and rubbing his hands over the wizard's belly.

"Yeah, I am, apparently," begins Harry as he takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of the alpha wolf. Though, he averts his eyes. "Male pregnancies are really rare, even for wizards, but they can happen. Something about synchronized magical cores or something, Hermione can explain it loads better than I can. Anyway, I just came here because I wanted to let you know in person that I am pregnant, it's yours, and I'm keeping this baby."

Fenrir stares at the determined expression on the young wizard's downcast face. In the werewolf's opinion, it is far too mature of an expression for such a young pup. Pushing aside the million and one questions that have formed in his own mind, the alpha wolf reaches a large hand out to raise the auror's face, forcing viridian eyes to meet his.

"Do you need me to do anythin'?" Fenrir asks, his tone a low, calming rumble.

"Oh, you don't have to do," Harry answers, the words quickly falling from his lips. "I didn't come here to ask for money or anything. I'll be just fine raising this baby on my own. I mean, I'll have my friends to help out I'm sure. Everything's going to be just fine."

At that moment, it becomes painfully obvious to the werewolf that the wizard's answers are all rehearsed. He finds himself wondering exactly how long it took for the auror to come here and have this awkward conversation.

Fenrir opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by the sudden opening of his front door. With the gust of cold air, the wolf instantly recognizes the scents of his two betas as they enter the quaint house.

"Ah Fenrir! Derrick and I thought that you'd like to kn-Oh! I'm so sorry," Scarlett apologizes after seeing that her alpha is not alone. "Are we interrupting?"

The female wolf's voice cuts through the weighted silence in the small cottage and seems to snap Harry out of his thoughts. Standing up from his seat on the wooden table, the wizard faces the two betas with an awkward half-smile.

"No, it's alright. Er, I was just leaving."

With a quick look to Fenrir, Harry gathers himself and hastily makes his way past Scarlett and Derrick. Harry's departure is so quick that it leaves the the three werewolves frozen in their places. The alpha werewolf recovers first and gets to his feet to go after the wizard carrying his child. Ignoring the confused looks from his betas, he strides right past them.

"Fenrir? What's going on her—"

"I'll be back, Derrick. I have some _family_ business to take care of."

Dumbfounded, both Scarlett and Derrick stare after the large man as Fenrir leaves them alone in the house to chase after the bespectacled wizard that has just left. A few moments of silence pass before the red-haired werewolf stares up at her mate.

"Derrick, was I seeing things or was that _Harry Potter_ just now?"

"That was him, alright. Lightning bolt-shaped scar and everything."

"What business does he have with Fenrir? I thought we're supposed to report to Shacklebolt, not Potter."

"Scarlett, it's probably best to leave the alpha to his own business."

With that, the tall werewolf puts an arm around his curious mate as he leads her out of the alpha's home and back towards Hogsmeade. The news they have for Fenrir will obviously have to wait.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take long for the werewolf to catch up to Harry. Mostly because the wizard hadn't apparated, he simply walked away from the cottage leaving a fresh trail of footprints in the snow. Fenrir assumes that the wizard's current mode of travel is more out of Harry's need to sort out his thoughts rather than effective transportation.

However, the wizard isn't the only one with thoughts to sort out.

Deciding to not take any chances, Fenrir arms quickly wrap around Harry's midsection the second he reaches him. An undignified gasp of surprise escapes the wizard's throat as he is lifted off his feet with little effort on the werewolf's part. Fenrir makes a mental note to make sure that the boy eats more, to get him to a healthier weight for bearing cubs. 

"Fenrir, let me go!" shouts Harry as he starts to squirm. The wizard trying to get out of the man's iron-like grasp.

"No, you aren't goin' anywhere, pup!"

Despite the werewolf's claims, it only takes a few moments for Harry to wiggle out of his grip. It isn't quite as impressive of a feat as Fenrir is actively trying to be as gentle as possible. The squirming body in his arms is carrying his growing child after all. Still, the last bit of the man's patience is wearing thin.

"Would you calm the fuck down, Potter?! I'm not gonna hurt you!"

"I'm perfectly calm," Harry insists even as his eyes say different. "And I know you're not going to hurt me. I wouldn't have come in person if I thought that!"

"Oh? Then why'd you run off?"

"I'm not running off!"

"Then what exactly are you doin' out here?! Needed to stretch your legs did ya?" Fenrir points out, a sneer on his lips. "Cuz to me, it seems like a pretty fuckin' stupid idea for you to be walkin' around in the cold in yer condition!"

Harry's eyes widen at the accusation before they narrow into dangerous slits.

"Good point."

Fenrir quirks an eyebrow at the wizard's sudden agreeable tone before he picks up on a familiar tingle. With a growl, he realizes that Harry is focusing his magical energy to disapparate. The werewolf grabs onto the auror's arm at the last moment to effectively disturb the transportational magic. Not wanting to splinch either of them, Harry instantly tugs Fenrir closer. The vacuum of disapparition is thankfully a quick discomfort. And after the surge of magic, the werewolf is surprised to find that the wizard has transported them both to London. They seem to be in the middle of a rather-unoccupied area of a small park. Fenrir surveys their new location, taking in the sunset glinting off a nearby pond just as Harry punches him(rather futilely) in the shoulder.

"Are you mad?! I could have _splinched_ yo—"

The auror is interrupted as he is picked up once again and carried over a broad shoulder. Fenrir sits him down on a nearby stone wall and stands in front of the expecting wizard. Standing between slim denim-covered thighs, the werewolf uses his arms to cage Harry in, as well as keep him in place.

"Now, no more runnin', Potter. You are going to stay put until we figure out how to handle this _development_."

"What do you mean _we_?"

Looking down at Harry's face, the werewolf spots the anxiety underneath the defensiveness. Fenrir runs a hand through his grey-streaked hair as he thinks of what to say. Though, it isn't an easy feat with large emerald eyes looking up at him expectantly. A growl leaves the man's throat as he tries to think of a way to start this conversation.

"Obviously, I didn't handle things quite right back there, did I?"

"Not really," concedes Harry as his fingers play with the ends of his scarf. "I can't blame you though. You handled the news better than I did. You didn't destroy anything. I'm not even sure I'm allowed back into St. Mungo's at this point."

The muttered words quirks Fenrir's curiosity. With a grin, he leans in a bit closer to Harry.

"What'd you do at St. Mungo's?"

"Let's just say that I didn't handle my diagnosis as well as I could have," the Head Auror replies, with a grimace at the memory. "Hermione even had to restrain me at one point. Apparently, my magic spiked and I sent some furniture flying and broke some windows."

Finding it hard to believe that the wizard before him would do anything requiring him to be restrained, Fenrir sighs.

"You were that upset that you were pregnant with my kid?"

Harry's expression softens at the werewolf's question. He meant it as a bit of humor to break the tension, yet Fenrir can't deny the effect of the reassuring smile on his companion's face. The hand that Harry begins threading through his hair doesn't hurt either. 

"It's not that I'm pregnant with _your_ kid, Fenrir. Granted, that was a bit of a surprise," admits the dark-haired wizard. "It's that I'm pregnant _at all_. Just when I think I have a chance of having a bit of normalcy to my life, I end up being the first wizard in a century to get pregnant. Tch, wait until _The Daily Prophet_ gets a hold of this story."

Fenrir rumbles out a sound in agreement, a bit distracted by the familiar way Harry absently strokes his scalp. However, he understands that this bit of news would make things rather difficult for both the famous wizard and the infamous werewolf.

"And if that wasn't enough," continues Harry, oblivious to the effect his fingers have on the man in front of him. "I'm the Head of the Auror department, how am I going to have a baby? I'm going to have to ask Minister Shacklebolt for matern—,er, _paternity_ leave just two months after I took a holiday to see my friend. There's a fun conversation to look forward to."

For a moment, there is silence between the two. A defeated look appears on the face of "The Boy Who Lived" as he sinks further into his thoughts. His hand leaves Fenrir's hair and falls back to his lap with a dejected sigh. Fortunately, Harry's worried expression is quickly replaced with surprise when the warm weight of a large hand settles on his abdomen.

"I can't really give you advice on any of that," Fenrir begins, his voice low. "I don't really do emotions and shit."

The colorful language makes a grin appear on Harry's face. 

"Well, at least you're being honest. It's a start."

"However, what I can do is provide for you and our cub growin' in here."

As he speaks, Fenrir begins to slowly rub circles over the flat belly. The werewolf grins lasciviously as he once again imagines what Harry will look like further into his pregnancy, visibly swollen with their child. A spike of possessiveness surges through the wolf as his imagination begins to run wild.

"What do you mean?" questions the wizard, disrupting Fenrir's train of thought.

"Well, you didn't get pregnant by yerself. I made a considerable contribution. There has to be something you need me to do. Name it."

For a moment, Harry seems to consider the man's offer. He shifts his gaze to look over Fenrir's shoulder at the sprawling English park. Spotting a mother and father making their way home with their gaggle of children, a thought seems to pop into the young wizard's head.

"Well, if you're serious about that offer, I'd like you to meet my family. Just so they can meet the real you, not the infamous Fenrir Greyback they've heard rumors about."

Thinking back on his rather unsavory past that has been chronicled by the wizard world over the years, an unconvinced look appears on Fenrir's face. If the werewolf isn't mistaken, most of Harry's 'family' consists of Remus Lupin's friends, members of the Order of the Phoenix(old and new), and other agents of the Light side. He may have changed a bit in the years since the war, but Fenrir has never hid the deeds from his past.

"Those rumors weren't all made up you know, pup. They'd be justified in attacking me on sight."

Taking a minute to think it over, Harry's eyes light up as he comes up with a plan.

"I'll cast a Glamour on you, just a small one. We can act like we're just mates or something and make up a name for you. Tonight, you all can just ge to know each other without the war hanging over our heads. I'll then reveal your real identity later when you're safely out of Mrs. Weasley's striking range. I haven't even told them I'm pregnant yet, but I'd like my family  to have at least one good, unbiased memory of my baby's father."

An impressed look settles on Fenrir's face as the wizard looks up at him hopefully.

"You think of this all by yourself just now?"

"Well, it was the only way I could think of for them to get to know the father of my baby and keep the peace."

The werewolf looks down at Harry with a fondness that surprises even him. Fenrir can tell that the young auror had thought through this tricky situation long and hard. The least he could do is indulge the boy. So, with a resigned sigh, he nods his head.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"Name the day and I'll go meet yer family," explains the werewolf. "As long as it's not a night of a full moon—it don't exactly bring out the _civility_ in me."

Harry nods in agreement before he remembers something. 

"Are you busy tonight?"

"No. Actually, my schedule just opened up for the next couple of days."

"Well, most of my family is gathering at Ron and Hermione's for dinner tonight. It'd be a good chance as any to meet them all at once."

At the suggestion, Fenrir leans back giving the wizard a bit of space. He removes his hand from Harry's flat belly(who misses the comforting touch) and holds it out to help the younger man down from the wall. Taking the offered assistance, Harry eases to his feet. The werewolf then surprises the wizard even further and smirks.

"Well then, what're we waitin' for? Let's get out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I like domestic fluff, so there will definitely be some portions sprinkled throughout this fic as well as snark, LOTS of snark.(I'm warning you all now)
> 
> It was fun getting in Fenrir's head, since he isn't given a lot of characterization in the books. So, in my head, I've always imagined Fenrir to be a practical, bluntly honest man. I also think he enjoys messing with people and is unapologetic about his past. I hope you enjoy my take on him as well as my take on an older, post-war Harry. If he appears to be a bit OOC, it's because I imagine him exploring who he is now, since he didn't really get a chance to do that in his adolescence(busy saving the world and all that).
> 
> See you next chapter!(I'm already working on it)
> 
> -Renka


	3. Family Matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extremely late update guys! The holidays have been crazy(I work a retail job, so my schedule has been all over) and I had a really bad cold to top it off. I normally try to update fics within 2 weeks max and will be returning to this schedule, barring any unforeseen circumstances.
> 
> So, without further ado, here's chapter 3!(warning- very slight blood play and pain kink. Like, a "blink and you'll miss it" amount, really). All mistakes are my own.
> 
> ENJOY!

The home of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley is located in the picturesque English countryside. Their farmhouse features stone walls with wooden shutters that complement the rolling greenery around them. Dots of blooming wildflowers sporadically break up the grasses and scent the country air. The worn path leading up to the Weasley residence from the main road is lit up with paper lanterns, warmly welcoming visitors. And even with the almost storybook quality to the home, it seamlessly blends in with the non-magical houses scattered around them.

Harry and Fenrir make their way up the country road just as the sun begins to set. Yet despite the darkening sky above them, the wizard is positive that his anxiety is clearly visible on his face. The werewolf beside him seems to have no such qualms and simply breathes in a lungful of fresh air. Harry watches as Fenrir's sharp eyes take in the open countryside, looking like his inner wolf is itching to run about and scent the new area.

"This is it, eh?" Fenrir asks, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," replies the wizard as his own eyes spot Arthur Weasley's magically-refurbished car. Harry regards the enchanted vehicle with a fond smile. "It looks like we're the last ones to arrive."

The werewolf grunts in acknowledgement at the comment, yet says nothing else. As they approach the walkway to the front door, Harry looks up at the man once more to check that his Glamour charm is in place. Not much has been changed physically on Fenrir, his hair is now a bit shorter and a dark-brown color while the chiseled features of his face have been softened just a bit. The man's characteristic piercing blue eyes have been muted to a warm gray, taking away a bit of their intensity. There isn't much Harry could change about Fenrir's imposing form on such short notice(and without a pre-brewed Polyjuice potion), yet the baggy, cable-knit sweater underneath the man's coat manages to hide his massive frame quite well. Satisfied that the werewolf wouldn't be instantly recognized on sight, Harry takes a deep breath and moves to knock on his best friends' door.

"Relax, pup."

The man's words snap the wizard out of his trance. His hand freezes in mid-knock.

"If you're tense, others will pick up on it," explains the alpha wolf, his tone even. "If you want them to buy it, you gotta buy it."

"O-oh, right. That makes sen—"

Harry is interrupted as Fenrir swiftly leans down and kisses him, a strong arm easily wrapping around the wizard's thin waist. The press of lips is slow and sensual, yet no less passionate than the ones they've shared before. And despite the Glamour charm, Harry feels the same spark he's starting to associate with the gruff werewolf. The young wizard is sure that means something, but Harry doesn't quite have the focus to analyze that thought right now(Especially while his mouth is being thoroughly claimed by the werewolf in question). His green eyes drift closed as his hands grasp onto the expanse of Fenrir's sweater-covered chest. It is with a soft moan that both the wizard and the werewolf pull apart, albeit with noticeable effort. Harry can feel his face flush bright red, yet he is surprised to find no trace of the nervousness he had before.

"There you are," Fenrir rumbles, pleased with his handiwork. "Nice and relaxed."

However, before the wizard can say anything in response, the door opens.

"Hello Harry! It's good to see you, mate!"

The Head auror's green eyes widen in further surprise. Of all the Weasleys he expected(and hoped) to answer the door, Harry hadn't expected to be greeted by Bill Weasley. The elder brother of his best friend has aged well in the passing years after the war. And as Bill smiles down expectedly at the young wizard, Harry's gaze is drawn to the scars across his face that crinkle at the movement. It creates an odd harmony of comfort and danger. Unsurprisingly, it makes the eldest Weasley sibling look even cooler.

"Hello Bill. It's good to see you too. How's Fleur and Victoire?"

"You can ask them yourself, they're out back. I just came around for a quick smoke. Fleur doesn't like me to do it around her," answers the tall redhead as he closes the door behind him. Once outside, his eyes focus on the the silent stranger. "So Harry, who's your friend?"

Turning to the large man beside him, Harry puts on a smile.

"Bill, this is er-Grayson, he's a recent friend of mine. We work together at the Ministry, so I invited him to dinner. Grayson, this is Bill Weasley."

The two men shake hands at the introduction as Harry nervously watches the exchange. For a moment, Bill studies the face of the disguised wolf, as if trying to see something on the larger man's features. Fenrir shows no signs of being uncomfortable with the scrutiny as he keeps his gaze locked with the redhead's. Finding whatever he seems to be looking for, Bill releases the man's hand with a small grin.

"Well _Grayson_ , a friend of Harry's is always welcome among the family."

"I appreciate that."

Harry breathes a sigh of relief as the two men exchange pleasantries. After all, if anyone would have recognized Fenrir Greyback on sight, it would've been Bill Weasley. The young wizard is so occupied with his thoughts that he misses the wordless exchange between Fenrir and Bill. In the weighted silence, Bill pulls out a cigarette and puts in between his lips. He lights it with a quick charm as his eyes remain focused on the disguised alpha wolf.

"I have to admit Harry, this is a pretty good Glamour. It even threw me off for a bit. I imagine it wasn't easy disguising Fenrir Greyback. Though, I'm more curious as to the _why_ rather than the _how_."

At those words, Harry blanches as the werewolf beside him grins in amusement. It takes the wizard longer than he'd like to recover from that casual reveal.

"How did you know?!"

"Can't hide scent from a werewolf, even with a spell," answers Fenrir as he regards Bill. There is a glimmer of respect in the werewolf's gaze. "Weasley may not be able to turn into a full wolf, but he still has the senses of one. I bet he's a bit immune to hexes and curses, too."

Turning to Fenrir, the younger wizard is still in shock. However, he manages to level a half-hearted glare.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"How was I supposed to know he'd be here? I didn't even know where we were goin'."

Harry sighs as he acquiesces the point."Still, it would've been helpful information to know that werewolves can scent through magic."

"Aren't you 'Head Auror'?" The alpha wolf counters, unable to hide the teasing tone. "You should already know that."

"The wizarding world doesn't have a lot of information regarding werewolves, I admit that. Until now, the ministry hasn't really had an interest in lycanthropy besides how to reverse it. The benefits are just now being studied."

"Well, I'm always to available to you for more  _in-depth_ study."

"I think you and I are in deep enough, Fenrir." 

"We can always go deeper, pup."

As Harry loses himself in their oddly-flirtatious bickering, the wizard forgets that he and Fenrir have an audience. It is just like that night back at the pub—the two men are drawn into their own little world. For some reason, Harry can't resist the rumbling baritone that is the werewolf's voice. The deep, confident tone draws him in and allows him to shut everything else out.

"Look, I don't quite know what's going on here," Bill starts, interrupting the strange couple before him. "But, an explanation would be helpful."

Remembering where he is, Harry quickly regains his composure. 

"Alright Bill, it's sort of hard to explain exactly, but Fenrir and I know each other. I mean, outside of the war and everything. We met up recently and—"

"Does this have anything to do with him and his packs working with the Ministry now?" the redhead adds, interrupting Harry's rambling. "I think I remember reading something about that in the _Prophet_."

At the convenient explanation being provided for him, the young wizard begins to slowly nod his head.

"Yeah, exactly."

The scarred Weasley looks over the two as he inhales and then releases out a slow exhale of smoke. Harry shifts nervously as Bill's eyes narrow with understanding, the younger wizard swearing that the elder's nostrils flare. Watching the wisps of his cigarette disappear into the night air, Bill seems to come to a conclusion with a soft smile.

"Fenrir, we were on opposite sides of a war that is now over," begins the redhead. "And for a time, I was angry with you for attacking me and giving me these scars—nevermind how wicked they look. Being exposed to lycanthropy wasn't exactly a part of my lifeplan. However, now I'm a husband and a father, I have more important things than regret to focus my energy on. I don't wish to live in the past and I have no desire to start a battle tonight. It's time that all of us, no matter what side of the war we were on, let bygones, be bygones. We've all lost so much and is does nothing to hold onto grudges. The best way to move on is to simply enjoy the present and look towards the promise of the future."

As the redhead looks at the two men before him, Bill grins knowingly.

"And besides, if Harry Potter personally vouches for you, that goes a long way in my book."

The elder Weasley's speech stuns Harry for a few minutes. While the wizard completely agrees with the man's words, he's humbled by the amount of forgiveness that Bill's sentiments offer. The way that he casually offers forgiveness to the werewolf that permanently scarred him is simply further testament to Bill Weasley's character.

"So Fenrir, are you looking to the future? Any plans after you're done working with the Ministry?"

At the question, Harry can't help but steal a curious glance at the alpha werewolf beside him. He is taken aback to find his eyes are met by Fenrir's even stare. Trying to make it as surreptitious as possible, both men quickly gaze at Harry's flat stomach. The two thinking about the growing cub that the wizard is currently carrying.

Harry's emerald gaze softens at that thought of the future, his future child to be exact. As terrifying as parenthood is for the young wizard, he is also eager for the next nine months or so. Having children is something that "The Boy Who Lived" has always desired and looked forward to experiencing, even if this isn't quite the method he had envisioned. But regardless of how he came to be "expecting", Harry already knows that he will do everything he can to ensure his child's happiness—much like his own parents did for him. When he was first informed of his "bundle of joy" at St. Mungo's, Harry was terrified(still is in some ways), however he also started to gain a sense of understanding. He began to comprehend the love his parents had for him, the love that his own mother used to protect him from Voldemort at the peak of his power. And now, the protective determination that he has for his own growing baby, appears on the wizard's face in the form of a warm smile. Harry curiously shifts his gaze once again to Fenrir's. However, this time Harry is surprised to see a similar, protective expression reflected in the man's own eyes.

Without breaking contact with the wizard's gaze, the werewolf responds to Bill's statement.

"Yeah, Weasley. My future plans just got clearer, actually."

"Excellent," the redhead wizard replies as he puts out his cigarette. The butt disappearing with a flick of his wrist. "C'mon back, then. Everyone's getting ready to eat."

As Bill turns to walk around to the backyard, Harry is still in a state of mild shock at the easy acceptance that the elder Weasley is extending. However, "The Boy Who Lived" decides not to question it as he leads Fenrir around his friends' home.

The trio walk into the large yard that holds the Weasley family as well as Hermione's muggle parents. The Grangers seem to be in a deep conversation with Arthur as they let him explore their smart phones. Around the adults, the next generation of wizards run about engulfed in their simple games. The multiple conversations, lively and warm, meld into a familiar harmony. Looking around at the people he calls family, even as he remembers those he lost in the war, "The Saviour of the Wizarding World" can't help but smile.

"Harry, it is so good to see you, dear!" greets Molly Weasley with a large smile. "It's been ages since I've seen you in person instead of on the cover of _The Daily Prophet_. "

The Head Auror is quickly wrapped up in a large, crushing hug from the woman he considers a mother. Harry smiles as he returns the warm embrace. He has always liked the fact that the matriarch of the Weasley clan hugs him the exact same way she hugs all of her children. There's never been a moment of hesitation.

"It has been too long, Mrs. Weasley. Sorry about that."

"Now, now, there's no need for any apologies. You're with family, so you just come in and eat something. I swear every time I see you, you are nothing but skin and bones!"

Turning her attention to the large man standing just behind the unruly-haired wizard, Molly has a surprised look on her face.

"Oh, who is your friend, Harry?"

"This is Grayson. He's an acquaintance of mine. I hope that it's alright that I brought him tonight."

"Of course it's alright," pipes up Ginny as she makes her way into the conversation. "Mum always makes too much food anyway."

Seeing his ex-girlfriend(especially in such close vicinity to his current "whatever Fenrir is"), Harry is a bit unsure how to act. The two broke up rather amicably, but the situation is still a bit awkward. Luckily for the wizard, the guesswork is taken out of the equation as Ginny walks up to him and greets him with a hug. The comforting embrace is the same as before they started dating. It is a simple, yet affectionate gesture which Harry returns, the wizard relieved that there seems to be no hard feelings or lingering attraction on either side of it.

After he introduces "Grayson" to both of the redheaded witches, the auror tries to nonchalantly search the backyard for the familiar faces of his best friends. Harry knows he's caught when a knowing look suddenly appears on Ginny's face. 

"Ron and Hermione are in the kitchen, Harry. Fair warning though, Ron is in a bit of a mood so tread carefully."

"Right then," Harry remarks already shaking his head at his friend before leading Fenrir inside the house.

 

* * *

 

 As the werewolf follows Harry through his friends' home and into the kitchen, Fenrir takes notice of the still photographs on the walls. He can't help but notice the multitude of happy moments forever preserved, as quite a few of which feature the dark-haired wizard in front of him. The man smirks when he spots a very young version of Harry with his arms around a familiar bushy-haired girl and a young redhead boy, presumably the highly-esteemed friends he's here to formally meet. Fenrir briefly remembers the few encounters he's had with "The Golden Trio" during the war, but try as he might, he doesn't really recall anything particular about Harry or his cohorts. The alpha wolf had only been focused on following the Dark Lord's orders(when he felt like it) and causing a bit of havoc for the Wizarding World along the way.

Once the two reach their destination, Fenrir is surprised when the wizard wordlessly signals him to be quiet. The werewolf obediently hangs back as he watches Harry sneak up on and wrap his arms around the older versions of the children in that picture.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley!"

"Harry!" exclaims both Hermione and Ron. The couple completely forgetting their tasks about the kitchen to greet the other wizard.

The three embrace in a long hug, then break apart and instantaneously start talking a mile a minute. Fenrir can tell that it has been some time since Harry has seen Ron and Hermione, as their conversation is of genuine inquiry instead of polite, awkward small talk. Then again, the werewolf assumes that being the young head of an entire Ministry department has a way of taking up all of Harry's time(It also explains why the wizard occasionally needs a night to blow off steam). From his place in the doorframe, Fenrir notices that during this "greeting ritual" only the witch makes sure not to embrace Harry too tightly. 

"Harry, I didn't know you were coming, mate! Why didn't you tell me?"

"That is the point of a surprise isn't it, Ron?"

"Speaking of surprises," starts Hermione, her attention going to the stranger in her kitchen. "Are you going to introduce us?"

Turning back to Fenrir, Harry moves out of their embrace and closer to the disguised werewolf.

"This is Grayson. He's an acquaintance of mine from London. We work at the Ministry together."

As they all exchange pleasantries, Hermione offers a welcoming smile, drawing attention to the fact that the once bushy-haired girl has grown well into her looks. Ron, however has a suspicious expression on his face. The redhead's eyes are narrowed as they give "Grayson" a once over, the look eerily similar to the glare an overbearing parent gives to their child's date. Fenrir isn't at all intimidated by the scrutiny, in fact he can't help the amused tilt to his lips(which only serves to upset Ron further).

"Acquaintance, huh?"

"Be nice, _Ronald_."

"I am being a perfect gentleman, _Hermione_ ," Ron explains to his wife before turning his attention back to the stranger in his house. "So Grayson, how _exactly_ did you and Harry meet?"

At the hard stare coming from the young wizard, Fenrir has to fight to keep the smirk from spreading across his face. He mentally reminds himself that these are Harry's friends. Therefore, it won't make a good impression if the werewolf knocks the red-headed wizard down a few pegs—even if he is practically asking for it. 

"We bumped into each other at a pub a while back," replies Fenrir, his voice deceptively calm. "We had a few pints together and made small talk, is all. Harry is good company on a lonely night."

The blush that his implication draws from Harry makes it more than worth the glare that is directed at him.

"So, Harry actually has free time to hang out. That's news to me."

"Ron, _seriously_?" Harry interjects, his own annoyance clear in his voice.

"What? We haven't seen you in weeks since you suddenly broke up with Ginny. And then, when you do finallyshow up, it's with a bloke that you've never even talked about, not even _once_. It's a bit weird. Frankly, I can't keep up with you anymore!"

Seeming to accurately read the growing tension between her friends, Hermione steps towards the disguised Fenrir.

"Let's get out of firing range, Grayson. I can tell that this is going to escalate quickly. I'll take your coat."

As the clever witch leads the werewolf away, the two can still hear Ron and Harry arguing in the background. A knowing grin is on Hermione's face as she takes Fenrir's jacket and hangs it in the hall closet. 

"Please don't mind them, Harry and Ron have always been that way. They're best friends but they butt heads all the time. Personally, I just think Ronald worries about Harry, not that my husband would ever admit it. And Harry, as talented as he is, never asks for help so he ends up taking on too much and overworking himself."

At the comment, Fenrir can't help but nod in agreement. He doesn't know Harry as well as the witch(not in the personal sense, anyway), but the werewolf can tell the young wizard has a self-sacrificing streak a mile wide. As the argument in the kitchen rises a bit in volume, the man doesn't hide the proud smirk on his face. Harry seems to be winning this particular round from the sound of it.

Hermione meanwhile shakes her head as Ron attempts to regain ground with some well-meaning concern that unfortunately comes across as criticism. Predictably, it doesn't work.

"And as you can hear, their mutual stubbornness has them at a perpetual impasse."

"It's good that Harry can hold his own, though."

"Yes, he's gotten much better at that over the years," the witch agrees. "Harry doesn't really know _how_ to let people take care of him, so he gets defensive. I swear, if they didn't fight, they wouldn't know how to show they care."

Entering the living room of the Weasley's home, Fenrir spots another collection of photographs on the wall. However, these prints have been enchanted with magic. The images move as all wizard photographs tend to do, the figures reliving the same moment in an endless cycle. Walking over to a particular frame, the werewolf spots a rather recent photo of Harry with his arm around a young woman with large eyes and long pale hair. The two have matching mischievous smiles as they seem to share some sort of inside joke.

"Who is this with Harry?"

"Oh, that's Luna Lovegood," Hermione informs him. "She's an old schoolmate of ours. Luna and Harry have always had a strange connection to each other. Admittedly, it takes some time to get used to her, but she is a loyal friend. Luna and Harry send each other owls rather regularly, and I think he just visited her a few months ago. That particular picture is from her last trip here."

"I see."

"Alright, follow me Grayson. You must be starving. I'll get you started on a plate."

Fenrir takes one last look at the photo, noting the similar gleam in Luna and Harry's eyes, before following Hermione outside.

The family get together is in full swing as the night continues. Good food and laughter flow through the Weasley's backyard as everyone gets comfortable. Even Fenrir, still disguised with the Glamour charm, finds himself occasionally chuckling along with Harry's family. The group feels like any other pack he's been a part of and it's actually reassuring to be able to fall back into his instincts in the familial setting. Perhaps noticing the werewolf's ease, Harry leaves his seat beside him to refill his cup. A small smile is on Fenrir's lips as Harry is quickly cornered at the punch bowl by Hermione. The werewolf tunes his hearing to listen in, curious to find out what the two are going to discuss.

"Harry, I'm really glad you made it, tonight. I was a bit worried about you since our last chat-"

"Everything's fine," insists the auror, clearly not wanting certain information overheard at the moment. "I've had some time to sort things out and everything is just fine."

Like Fenrir, the witch seems to instantly recognize Harry's overuse of the word "fine" as anything but. It is also obvious that the young wizard is going to be stubborn about any details regarding his unplanned pregnancy. So, Hermione then decides to change her tactics.

"So, this Grayson that you brought with you," begins the witch in a low whisper. "Is he really just a friend, or is he the father of your baby?"

At the knowing look on her face, Harry gently pulls her closer with a sharp tug. Fenrir has to hide a chuckle at the wizard's reaction. He's starting to like this Hermione.

"Yes he is, but could you keep that between us? I haven't told anyone else about my _condition_ yet."

"Harry, please don't tell me that you're waiting until you start to show."

"No, I just think telling everyone that I'm knocked up is a bit much for dinner conversation," Harry rationalizes. "Look, I promise that I'll tell everyone when I'm ready."

Seeing the pleading expression on her friend's face, Hermione decides to drop the subject. She instead opts to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder as a silent show of support.

"You know I'll go along with whatever you think is best, Harry. I won't tell anyone. However, if you need someone to go with you for your next appointment at St. Mungo's, just let me know. You can call or text if you like, Ron still doesn't know how to use a cellular phone so he won't find out about it."

At Hermione's words, the auror lets out a chuckle.

"Thanks, 'Mione."

From his seat at one of the long picnic tables set up in the Weasley's backyard, Fenrir continues to watch as Harry converses with his witch friend. He can sense the pregnant wizard's apprehension, yet he doesn't move as it is quickly soothed by the woman's words. The alpha wolf is satisfied that he won't have to cause a scene by hauling Harry back to his side(Admittedly, the wizard's reaction to it would be amusing). Engulfed in his observations, Fenrir almost misses the two small children that run up to him. One is a remarkably-pretty blonde girl and the other is a slightly-older boy with hair that seems to change colors at his whim.

"Ello! My name es Victoire and this es Teddy."

Smirking down at the two children before him, the large man turns to face them fully.

"Hullo, how can I help you two?"

"Arr you _really_ Uncle Arry's friend?" pipes up Victoire, her accented voice giving her a charm all her own.

"Yes."

"But you're old," comments the boy, as he stares at the large man. His disbelief is palpable.

The werewolf finds himself more amused than insulted by the child's sudden remark(the man is well into his forties after all). Then again, Teddy would hardly be the first wizard to underestimate Fenrir based upon looks. Many of his opponents during the war had assumed the older wolf was all bark and no bite.  Despite the grey streaks in his hair(the undisguised version), the alpha wolf is still in his prime by werewolf standards. So, after a quick laugh, the man grins down at the two curious children.

"Let's just say that your Uncle Harry and I are a special kind of friends."

"Oh, okay."

Fenrir stares at Teddy's soft facial features for a long moment, a quick whiff of the boy's scent confirming his thoughts.

"You look just like your father when he was a pup. With the exception of the color-changin' hair, of course."

Teddy eyes widen as his interest in the disguised werewolf grows. Moving closer, large eyes take a deep look at Fenrir.

"You knew my daddy, too?"

"I did. We weren't exactly friends though, Remus and I."

Mulling this new information about in his young mind, the boy surprises the man by offering a smile.

"Well, maybe you can be my friend?"

At the pure innocence in the boy's face, Fenrir finds himself completely lost. A genuine smile comes to his features as he pats Teddy Lupin on the head.

"Maybe pup, maybe."

Teddy gives Fenrir a large smile at that. Then, with a wave he and Victoire run off as quickly as they came up to the man. 

Feeling a stare on him, the werewolf looks up to find that it belongs to his wizard. Harry smiles as he watches him interact with the two children. Fenrir knows that those emerald eyes have probably been watching since Lupin's cub had approached him(Curious to see how Fenrir would handle the kid, most likely). The werewolf has apparently passed the test, judging by Harry's pleased smile. For a moment, the wizard's hand subconsciously drifts down to his stomach before he turns and offers to carry now-empty dishes into the kitchen. The charming red blush on the tips of Harry's ears gives Fenrir an idea.

Standing up with the fluid grace of a predator, the werewolf follows Harry into the house. His sharp gaze trained solely on his prey.

 

* * *

 

 As the wizard puts the dirty dishes and servingware into the sink, the charmed fixture does all the work to clean them. Even after years of exposure to magic, Harry is still awed by the everyday enchanted items that make up the wizarding world. Granted, a muggle dishwasher performs the same function, but it isn't nearly as entertaining. So caught up watching the flatware dry themselves, the auror doesn't notice that he is no longer alone. The warm breath and tickling rasp of facial hair against his cheek makes a gasp leave the wizard's lips as he is pulled into a strong embrace. Fenrir rumbles out a chuckle as he nuzzles the side of Harry's throat.

"F-fenrir, stop. Anyone could come in and see us. There are children here, you know."

"I'll hear anyone the second they come inside the house," the man rumbles as his hands slowly travel up and down the wizard's body. "Besides, can't expect me to keep my hands off of you for too long."

At that, Harry turns around in Fenrir's grip, and opens his mouth to half-heartedly argue the point. However, his protest is quickly silenced by the werewolf's eager lips. The wizard attempts to fight it, yet gives in when he is pulled against the warm wall of muscle that is Fenrir's chest. Ignoring better reason, Harry returns the kiss, not caring that they are standing in the middle of his best friends' kitchen. His own hands find their way into Fenrir's thick hair, his fingers keeping the man right where he wants him. The exchange isn't a hurried one, in fact both the wizard and the werewolf seem to be taking their time to savor the taste of each other's mouths. This kiss, while full of passion, is uniquely different from the heated kisses they shared that night. _This kiss_ is full of promise, it intentionally suggests a future.

And Harry can't deny the part of himself that wants whatever it is that Fenrir is offering.

When the werewolf suddenly breaks their contact, Harry's lips are slightly swollen. He half realizes that he's panting. However, he doesn't focus too hard on that fact as Fenrir's breathing has changed too. Harry can't help but be proud of that particular achievement. After all, it isn't everyday that he manages to put someone in a stupor(without his wand, anyway).  

Harry finds that it is an intoxicating sort of power.

Taking a step closer to continue the kiss, the young wizard is stopped by the knowing grin on Fenrir's face. Harry opens his mouth to question the expression, however is cut off by the sound of Ron entering the kitchen. The auror absently realizes that this is the second time tonight that they've almost been caught red-handed by a Weasley as he runs a hand through his unruly hair. Luckily, his attempts to hide the evidence of Fenrir's handiwork go unnoticed by his friend.

"So here's where you got to, Harry," the redheaded wizard comments, completely oblivious to anything that was going on in the room before his entrance. " 'Mione told me to give you this potion. She said something about nausea. Are you feeling okay?"

Quickly taking the offered vial from his friend, Harry offers him a grateful smile.

"I'm fine, just a bit out of sorts," the wizard explains, pointedly ignoring the amused snort that leaves Fenrir. "Er—tell her I said thanks."

Nodding his assent, Ron then tilts his head to the side as he notices Harry moving towards the front door.

"You two about to head out?"

"Yeah, Grayson and I need to get back to London. We have a busy day tomorrow."

"Alright. Look, sorry about before and everything," Ron begins, the redhead obviously uncomfortable apologizing. "But seriously, don't be a stranger, Harry. It's been awhile since we've all hung out together. I guess I just miss you sometimes."

"Me too, mate. I miss seeing both of you. I'll come over again soon and more often, promise."

At that, Harry and Ron exchange fond smiles. The redhead then turns to the disguised Fenrir, this time his expression is open and friendly. It is a far cry from the open hostility he gave the man earlier this evening.

"Grayson, it was nice meeting you. Make sure Harry gets home safe, alright?"

"Got it," replies Fenrir, his gaze fixated on the dark-haired wizard beside him.

After Harry says goodbye to the various members of the Weasley and Granger family, he and Fenrir walk out. The night air is a bit chilly as the two walk away from Ron and Hermione's home. No words are exchanged as they make their way along the country road. The simple sounds of chirping crickets fill the silence. After a few moments pass, Harry takes the werewolf's hand(not at all noticing the heat that emanates from the large palm) and disapparates them back to Fenrir's cottage in Hogsmeade. Once in the man's temporary lodgings, Harry releases a breath. The tension seems to drain out of his body as the wizard walks towards the fireplace, the flickering flames bathing the cottage in warm light.

"Thank you for tonight, Fenrir. I know that it was a bit uncomfortable at times, but I really appreciate you doing this."

The wizard's words earn him a non-committal shrug from the werewolf.

"Your friends care about you so they're just protective, I understand. Werewolf packs aren't much different. Besides, it makes me feel better knowin' that they will take good care of the both of you."

At the mention of their unborn child, Harry nods in agreement. His hand hovers over the non-existent swell of his belly as if he can already imagine the weight of his developing pregnancy.

"It makes me feel better too, Fenrir. When I tell my family and friends who the father of this baby is, they won't just think of the old you. They'll think of 'Grayson', the Fenrir Greyback they had dinner with tonight."

"They'll just hate me even more, Harry." Fenrir states matter of factly before he grins. "Not that it ain't justified."

Something about the werewolf's tone of voice makes Harry approach him. But before he does or says anything, the wizard takes out his wand. A flick of his wrist and a few murmured words removes the Glamour charm from Fenrir's face. The softened features sharpen as the man's thick hair returns to his signature grey-streaked black. When the werewolf's eyes regain their intense blue hue, Harry knows that the charm is completely gone. A smile appears on the wizard's lips as he takes in the familiar visage of Fenrir Greyback staring back at him.

"I won't let them hate you."

As he speaks, Harry hopes that his eyes conveys some of the certainty he feels right now. Fenrir is right in some regards—his friends and family will probably not react well to the news that the infamous werewolf has impregnated him(He himself didn't). However, Harry is sure that Fenrir Greyback isn't as bad as his reputation makes him out to be. The werewolf does have a charming side as well as a brutal(yet likeable) honesty about him. And well, if Bill can forgive Fenrir, Harry can't see any good reason why anyone else would hold a personal grudge against the wolf.

Working with the Ministry Reconstruction efforts after the war, the Head Auror has learned that those on the opposite side had their own justifiable motives for their actions. Harry doesn't particularly agree with them, but he knows that understanding the motivations behind Voldemort's followers is the key to keeping the peace in the Magical world. After all, one of the ways Voldemort easily recruited so many followers is by telling them that the Ministry didn't care about their plights(And in all honesty, it wasn't exactly a hard sell for the former Dark Lord to make). The Ministry has always had little tolerance for creatures that chose not to conform to its rigid bureaucracy.

Harry is drawn out of his thoughts as Fenrir slowly pulls him closer. The man's large palms settle comfortably on the wizard's narrow hips as his nose buries into Harry's thick hair. A fond grin appears on the young auror's face when he hears Fenrir take a deep inhale of his scent. For a moment, Harry enjoys the affectionate, canine-like behavior. 

"I want to be there," rumbles the werewolf, his voice still retaining its rich, gravelly tone. 

"Fenrir, you don't have to," Harry interjects, pulling back to look up at the man. "We talked about this. I'll raise this baby on my own. I know that this isn't what either of us expected would happen after our night together, but I can handle this. You'll see, it'll be better this w-"

Harry is cut off when Fenrir leans in to kiss him. This time, the gesture is the intense exchange that the wizard has been thinking of(and admittedly, fantasizing about)for the past few months. The dominance that pours off the werewolf brings out the submissive qualities of the wizard's personality while simultaneously bringing about his own bold urges. As Fenrir's firm lips explore his mouth, Harry runs his pale fingers through the wolf's thick, grey-streaked hair. Encouraging groans rumble out of the larger man's throat as the auror's other hand trails along the werewolf's well-defined body. A smile crosses his lips as a large palm lingers on Harry's lower abdomen right where their child is growing. So engulfed in Fenrir's ministrations, the wizard barely notices as he is laid upon the plush, bear skin rug before the fireplace. At the change of orientation, he opens his viridian eyes to see the werewolf above him silhouetted by the light of the fire.

"I take care of what's mine, Harry," murmurs Fenrir as their lips part. His low voice joined only by the crackling fire and Harry's panting as he catches his breath. "Always have, always will."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"Well, first I'm gonna make you _mine_ , pup. Put my mark on that pretty throat of yours, right here," states the werewolf, right before he swipes his tongue along the sensitive area for emphasis. "Gonna make sure that everyone knows that your body belongs to me."

The possessive tone sends a shiver of pure desire through Harry's body. Unprepared for such a reaction, the wizard forces himself to take a second to organize his thoughts—all the while, shifting nervously under Fenrir's heated gaze.

 

"If I did let you mark me, what would that do exactly?"

"Means that you, Harry Potter, would be mine and I'd be responsible for takin' care of and providin' for you and our little pup. I'd see to all of your needs and you'd satisfy mine."

"And what exactly would your _needs_ entail?" Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

The question makes the grin on the werewolf's face grow wider as he takes an appreciative look over the wizard beneath him.

"Well, you're a smart wizard aren't ya? Figure it out."

Staring up at the embodiment of wild masculinity above him, Harry finds himself warming up to the idea of belonging to the man. He can't really explain it, but it would be nice to have one aspect of his life where he doesn't have to be in charge. For the young auror, it is all too appealing to be able to depend on someone else for a change. Fenrir Greyback isn't exactly the person he envisioned having a child with, however "The Boy Who Lived" can't deny that the man has a certain gruff charisma that is uniquely Fenrir. After all, the man entranced Harry into one of the best conversations he had in ages and seduced him into the passionate tryst that resulted in the child he's now carrying.

All in all, the wizard finds himself curious—what would it be like to be Fenrir Greyback's mate? The man is feared by many, yet he is slowly earning support within the Ministry of Magic. Fenrir has committed crimes, yet he is making amends for it by helping to hunt down those that wish to continue the Dark Lord's work. In time, the werewolf could become a well-respected member of wizarding society. But, if Harry is truly honest with himself, he finds that he genuinely likes the man, just as he is. He has no desire to smooth out the rough edges of Fenrir's gruff personality. There are probably better reasons for starting a relationship, then again it's not as if Harry has ever done anything in his life the "normal" way—so why should he start now?

"So, for werewolves, being mates is sort of like being married, then? It's a mutual arrangement?"

"You could say that," answers Fenrir, the alpha wolf seems to already sense that the wizard is leaning towards saying 'yes' to his proposal. "I'm as much yours as you're mine, if that's what you're gettin' at."

"Merlin, this is insane," Harry states, his sense of logic suddenly coming back full force. "Just because we're having a baby together doesn't mean that we need to become mates or whatever. Plenty of people have children without being involved with one another."

Leaning in a bit, piercing blue eyes rove over the lithe body laid out beneath him(Harry suspects that Fenrir is intentionally making it so the wizard can feel the lust from his gaze). The man then raises his head to lock eyes with the emerald ones that peer through Harry's trademark glasses.

"You're right, we don't _have_ to be mated," begins Fenrir, his hand gently caressing Harry's side. His fingers stroke the warm skin just underneath the light sweater covering the wizard's torso. "But the thing with werewolves is, we tend to get _real_ possessive. My more feral side may not like the fact that our mate is out in the world unclaimed, 'specially since you're expectin'. After all, werewolf cubs need their sire just as much as they need their carrier."

"So, this is more like, preventative measures?" asks Harry. His own hand running up the man's chest, enjoying the firm muscle and soft hair underneath Fenrir's sweater.

"Preventative would be if you and I used some sort of protection two months ago. My instincts have always led me, Harry. And right now, they're tellin' me that lettin' you leave my sight without my claim on you would be the biggest mistake of my life. What're your instincts tellin' you?"

For a moment, Harry is completely speechless by what the man has said. However, what truly steals his words is the intense, yet honest longing that is visible in Fenrir's eyes. A slow smile appears on the wizard's face as he stares up at the infamous werewolf.

"My instincts are telling me that as completely mad as all of this is, I should just say yes."

"Then maybe, you should just listen to 'em."

With those words, Fenrir closes the gap between them with another deep kiss. Harry notices that the larger man keeps most of his weight off of his smaller form, yet still manages to engulf the wizard with his overwhelming presence. The observation only endears him further to his decision to become this man's mate. With renewed desire, Harry returns the kiss as he slips his hands underneath the werewolf's sweater. Both men make quick work of their remaining clothing in their urgency to feel their bodies pressed against each other. Before long, Harry relaxes into the warmth that radiates from the body above him. His face blushes as he feels Fenrir lower himself so that they are flush against each other, the wizard now acutely aware of the physical effect he has on the werewolf.

A soft whine escapes Harry when Fenrir breaks their kiss. Yet, it is instantly forgiven as he leaves the wizard's soft lips to travel along the supple curve of Harry's throat. As the werewolf travels lower, his mouth tasting and nipping its way along his soon-to-be mate's body, Harry's hands explore the man at their leisure. His quick fingers run over shifting muscles and trace the many scars that litter the sun-darkened skin. When Fenrir's lips travel down the young wizard's torso, his nipples peak at the lingering caresses and teasing bites. The wolf however, pauses when he reaches Harry's stomach.

Remembering that their growing cub resides inside him, Harry smiles as Fenrir places a hand on his belly. The moment shared between both men is charged with unspoken affection. Not knowing what to say at that raw exposure, Harry tugs the werewolf back up his body. A low groan escapes the wizard's throat as he feels the man's stubble graze against his skin as Fenrir reunites their lips in another passionate kiss. 

Lying between the lean thighs spread for him, the werewolf licks his lips in anticipation. Harry doesn't quite know what to do with the bolt of desire that action creates and settles for tightening his grip on the man's broad shoulders. His own dazed eyes manage to focus on Fenrir's half-lidded gaze, yet Harry is surprised by what he finds along with the lust. The alpha wolf seems to also be at a loss, like he has never been as passionate with a lover as he is with the wizard now carrying his child. Like maybe, being with Harry is somehow different from the others he's shared a night with. The young wizard can relate to this mind-blowing epiphany, as he himself is unsure how to come to terms with his own realization. Before Fenrir, Harry had never entertained being with a man, let alone a werewolf.

Yet here he is, once again enjoying everything that the infamous Fenrir Greyback is doing to his body and pleading(begging, really) for more.  

Both Harry and Fenrir realize at the same moment when their touches, as addictive as they are, are no longer enough. Without words, the wizard settles on his back while his soon-to-be mate gets into position. The two men lock eyes with one another, each of their gazes hazy with lust. Panting, Harry holds on to the last shreds of his patience as his body is prepared to be thoroughly claimed by the man above him.

Dealing with his own urges to simply take the body offered to him, Fenrir slowly enters Harry. Instead of just using the tight, enveloping heat to bring about his own end, the werewolf forces his thrusts to be slow, allowing his smaller mate to adjust to his size. The effort is not an easy one, as the wizard looks utterly delectable underneath him—a thin sheen of sweat on his features as the soft glow of firelight plays across his pale, smooth skin. Closing his eyes to the tempting sight, Fenrir focuses on making the experience as pleasurable as possible. The werewolf is startled out of his intense concentration when a pale hand is gently pressed against his stubbled cheek.

"F-fenrir?"

"Yeah, pup?"

"Not that I don't appreciate _this_ ," begins the flushed wizard, indicating the man's considerate efforts. "But I'm not made of glass. And if you go any slower, I'll have no choice but to hex you into next week."

At the demand, the werewolf grins lecherously. His large hands spread the well-toned thighs further as he accommodates the wizard's request and increases his pace. The new, harsh rhythm forces a keening cry to leave Harry's lips as his back arches felinely.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you so much, Potter," growls out the werewolf as Harry's hands grip his thick forearms like an anchor. The bite of blunt nails proves to be a grounding contrast to the growing pleasure.

The two men say very little after that(at least coherently), as they focus on the intense reactions they are drawing from each other's bodies. Fenrir's piercing blue orbs concentrate on the pale wizard as he gives himself over to bliss. A pride unlike any the werewolf has ever known swells in him as Fenrir extracts moan after moan from Harry's pink, kiss-bruised lips. Half-lidded emerald eyes in turn fixate on the man before him, entranced by the shifting of powerful muscles and impressed by their strength as the man suddenly pulls him into his lap. Any reservations that Harry has held onto are thrown out the window as he is bombarded with the new sensations that the change in position gives him. Looking down at the man that is responsible for these new pleasures, the wizard is pleased to see that he is having a similar effect. Fenrir's gaze is dark with want as one of his large hands grip onto Harry's hips—the werewolf silently encouraging all of the circular motions that the young auror experiments with. The man's other hand hand wraps around Harry, slowly pumping him in time to Fenrir's maddeningly-relentless thrusts.

Just as he can feel the familiar buildup to the all-too satisfying rush of endorphins, Harry feels the werewolf's mouth on his throat. Lips and tongue map the area before he feels sharp canines graze the sensitized skin. And as the wizard is just about to topple over into what is sure to be a perfect orgasm, Fenrir's teeth sink in. The burst of pain surprises Harry when it only manages to heighten the pleasure to a new level as he rides out the waves. Crimson blood steadily trickles down the length of "The Boy Who Lived's" throat. Harry's thighs burn with the strain, yet he continues to meet the man's deep thrusts, gasping as he feels the last pulses of his release. The auror moans as Fenrir suddenly pulls him closer, the alpha wolf's thick arms wrapping around his back to hold him in place. Harry shakily raises a hand to stroke the man's grey-streaked tresses as soft mewls and whimpers tumble out of his lips. The young wizard then starts to instinctively undulate his hips, coaxing Fenrir to pursue his own peak. It seems to be working as the werewolf's steady thrusts devolve into a slow, intoxicating grind.

A loud, deafening howl is the last thing Harry hears before he feels the searing rush of the man's release filling him.

Harry must have blacked out for a few moments, because the next thing he registers is Fenrir lowering them both back to the bear pelt. Both men are on their sides as the werewolf's hand comes to settle on the wizard's still flat, yet heaving, belly as he recovers from their mating. Once situated, Harry smiles tiredly as he feels the man's warm tongue clean the claiming mark. The wound throbs a bit, almost pleasantly, as Fenrir continues to tend to it as soothing purrs rumble in the man's chest. Harry relaxes into the ministrations, secretly luxuriating in the security he feels in his new mate's embrace.

The wizard watches the dancing flames for a few moments before he loses the battle with consciousness and slips into a sated daze. 

The werewolf not too far behind him.

 

* * *

 

This time, when Fenrir is awoken by an irritating beam of morning sunlight(disoriented a bit since he's on the floor) there is no frustration. Instead, his body thrums with satisfaction as a the comforting weight of Harry Potter shifts on top of him. The mop of familiar dark hair on his furred chest nuzzles further into his body as its owner tightens his grip on the blanket—the werewolf assumes that the woven cover had been summoned sometime after their _activities_. As the wizard moves about, Fenrir catches a glimpse of the healing mark on his mate's pale neck and shoulder, the skin covering the bitten area has darkened into a large, swollen blotch. An odd sense of calm settles over the werewolf at the physical proof that the one carrying his child has been properly claimed.

"Mornin', Harry."

"Morning," replies the wizard as he yawns. Lifting his head up, Harry rubs a bit of the sleep from his eyes. It takes him a moment to realize that his trademark eyewear isn't on his face. "Where are my glasses?"

"Safe and sound on the table over there," informs Fenrir as he glances around the room. The alpha wolf amused by the mess of their clothing haphazardly strewn about.

"Oh, good then. I won't have to bother transfiguring a new pair, later."

After that comment, "The Savior of the Wizarding World" returns his head to the warmth of Fenrir's chest. The rather cute gesture coming from the man that defeated the Dark Lord, paired with his disheveled appearance, makes the werewolf chuckle. Harry looks up as the sound reverberates within the broad chest that is currently his pillow.

"What? What is it?"

"It's nothin', Potter," Fenrir comments, running a hand through the mess of dark hair. "Nothin' at all."

Shrugging off the werewolf's odd behaviour, Harry goes back to sleep. But not before slinging a leg over Fenrir as he moves to get comfortable. The man can only grin wider as he closes his own eyes. After all, if he plays his cards right, Fenrir knows that he can get the pup to stay cooped up in the Ministry-owned cottage for a day or two.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is having fantastic and safe holidays! I plan to have the next chapter up within the week, so keep an eye out for it!
> 
> Later Days!


	4. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 4(Finally!)
> 
> There's no real warnings, but a good amount of fluff and Werewolf!Fenrir(NOTHING sexual happens, just cuddling). In this story, Fenrir(and all werewolves) have a full wolf form which is like a large direwolf.
> 
> *Again, I can't thank you all enough for the reviews, kudos, and simple enjoyment of this story!*
> 
> Hopefully, this brightens your day!

In the eerie darkness of the Forbidden Forest, Fenrir Greyback stoically watches over his pack mates and the group of aurors he has been charged with. His senses are attuned to the rustle of leaves and the scurrying noises of the creatures that make up the inhabitants of the dark woods. Yet, even in this state of hyper awareness, Fenrir appears to be in a uncharacteristic good mood(The man isn't skipping through the woods and singing a tune, however his usual scowl has been replaced by a self-satisfied smirk).

But Fenrir can't help it, three straight days of passionate(and rather creative) sex seems to have quite the lingering effect on the notorious werewolf.

Even now, his mind is barraged with images of the carnal activities he and Harry engaged in. His hands still itch to caress the young wizard's pale skin and run through his dark tresses, despite the thousand times in the last 72 hours that he's already done so. And with startling clarity, Fenrir remembers the lust-drunk green eyes of the Head Auror, so unlike the silent challenge Harry's eyes normally held. The werewolf basks in pride that he alone is the cause of that reaction in the "Saviour of the Wizarding World".  Lost in his quite-graphic mental replay of the past weekend, the alpha wolf is oblivious to the concerned stares coming from his betas.

"Fenrir?"

Shifting his gaze from the forest around them, piercing blue eyes watch Derrick's hesitant approach. Fenrir takes his time to turn and face the grey-eyed man. With a smooth rise of his eyebrow, the alpha looks expectantly at the slightly-shorter werewolf.

"Somethin' wrong, Derrick?" Fenrir asks. Glancing around the man, he catches Scarlett looking on with trepidation as the team of aurors continue their work behind her. Espen and the rest of the pack are maintaining a perimeter around the group, Fenrir occasionally catching their scents when the wind changes direction.

"No, everything is going as well as it can. I simply wanted to talk."

"About?"

"Well, Fenrir, you seem to be in a rather good mood," trails the other man, his tone a bit more accusatory than Fenrir would like.

"Actually, I am in an _excellent_ mood, Derrick," the alpha replies, his shark-like grin unnerving his old friend for a brief moment. "Hell, I'm downright _giddy_."

"Riiiight. And this _excellent_ mood of yours, would it have anything to do with that visit from Harry Potter a few days ago?"

The instant that Derrick mentions his mate's name, the look of amusement on Fenrir's face becomes tainted with desire. His bright blue eyes darken as the wolf's nostrils flare, as if trying to catch a lingering whiff of Harry that have managed to cling to him from that morning's activities. Derrick notices all these subtle changes with widened eyes, only making him even more suspicious of his alpha.

"Yes, Potter does have somethin' to do with it," Fenrir answers after taking a moment to collect himself. His mind leaving his own private thoughts in order to return to the present conversation. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, it's not my business who you shag, Fenrir. Scarlett and I are simply concerned for you. It's not like you to mix business and pleasure."

The grin on the man's face lessens a bit as he turns to face the man that he has come to think of as a friend. Fenrir is not surprised by his beta's reaction to his confirmation that he's sleeping with Harry James Potter. Derrick has always been an exemplary beta—supporting his decisions with little question(just a sarcastic comment or two). The man has also proven to be a trustworthy confidant and a more than capable warrior. Even when faced with his alpha's more impetuous decisions, Derrick just takes it upon himself to handle the details. Scarlett, on the other hand, is complete opposite in her position as beta of the Greyback pack. She likes to take a more active, hands-on approach. Where Derrick is more subtle, his counterpart is downright blunt in her criticism. Both methods are appreciated, after all it makes him a better alpha. It almost makes Fenrir feel a little guilty about the rest of the news he has yet to deliver.

_Almost_.

"Neither of you need to be concerned," Fenrir states loud enough for both of his betas to hear. 

Derrick releases a sigh of relief as he runs a hand over his buzzed hair, seemingly satisfied with the reassurance. Scarlett nods in approval before turning her focus back to the aurors completing today's section of the Forbidden Forest. A sense of calm settles along the pack bond as the three werewolves resume their roles. Although, Derrick seems to know that it would be remiss to ignore what has raised the concern for his alpha in the first place.

"Normally, I would take your word for anything, Fenrir. However, when I see _the_ Harry Potter sitting in _your_ cottage, it changes things a bit. And then before I can even begin to make sense of the situation, both of you are out the door and neither Scarlett nor I see you for three days straight. Not to overstep my bounds, but may I remind you that we do have an extensive job to complete here and less than a year to complete it in. The pack is so close to finishing our contract with the ministry, perhaps now isn't the best time for . . . distractions."

After he finishes voicing his thoughts, Derrick's grey eyes study the other werewolf with a serious expression. A look of honest consideration passes over Fenrir's face as he turns to face his second in command.

"I'm fully aware of the job we have to finish here, Derrick,"  begins Fenrir, his gruff voice deepened with purpose. " **No one** has more desire than me to finally be free of the Ministry. Don't think for one moment, that I ain't always workin' towards that goal."

Intense blue eyes then narrow as a possessive anger makes its way onto Fenrir's rugged features. The change in mood silently reminds the beta wolf why the man before him rules over every werewolf in Europe without question. Contrary to what most of the Magical Community thinks, Fenrir Greyback has a near terrifying amount of control in regards to his rage and raw power. So when the alpha wolf decides to exhibit it, it is a rather bone-chilling sight. 

"That bein' said, don't ever call my mate a _distraction_ again. Got it?"

At the tone of the command alone, Derrick nods obediently. He has been Fenrir's beta for quite some time, and knows exactly when(and more importantly, _when not_ ) to push his alpha. And being the practical man that he is, Derrick instead decides to focus on the particular wording of Fenrir's order. Mainly, that the one werewolf that he has always assumed would be an eternal bachelor, has revealed otherwise.

"Well, you have my congratulations, Fenrir. You managed to find yourself a mate, I never thought that yo— _wait a second_!" Derrick interrupts himself when he makes the connection. The man then drops his voice to a harsh whisper, mindful of the team of aurors nearby. "You're mated to Harry Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes, I **_claimed_** him," confirms Fenrir, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. "I've got my mark on the Saviour of the Wizardin' World's pretty little throat."

For a moment there is an expression of pure shock on Derrick's face. Scarlett simply shakes her head in disbelief, the female wolf has clearly overheard everything from her post. 

Fenrir would be lying if he denied reveling in their exasperation. After all, he has to have his fun somehow.

"B-but, why? I mean, sure, Harry Potter is a valuable ally and would be nothing but an asset to the pack, but it makes no sense. Why would you claim him so suddenly? It's not like he's some witch you managed to knock up with your pups or someth—"

"Accordin' to the staff as St. Mungo's, the pup is due in November. I think it's a bit too early to tell if it's gonna be multiples or not."

At that tidbit, the man physically blanches, much to Fenrir's continued amusement.

"That's it, it's finally happened, you've gone completely stark-raving mad, Fenrir. After all those years working with the Dark Lord and held up in Askaban, you've gone loony. Males **can't** get pregnant , no matter how many times you bugger 'em."

The comment rolls right off the alpha werewolf as he shrugs noncommittally. 

"Apparently, wizards are funny like that," Fenrir states. The claim on his sanity remains neither confirmed nor denied as he leans himself against a nearby tree before continuing. "Can't change what's already happened, Derrick. The two of us shagged, Potter got pregnant, and I claimed him as _mine_. No use makin' a fuss over it."

The blasé statement simply has Derrick shaking his head in disbelief, echoing his own mate's frustrations with their leader.

As beta to Fenrir Greyback over the years, Derrick has witnessed his alpha become a criminal and a monster amongst the wizarding world. The beast of a man used his brute strength, natural intimidation, and his eerily sharp mind in order to protect his packs the only way he knew how—with fear. And as his second in command, Derrick has directly helped to facilitate the man's goals to rebuild the strength of the werewolf population by some questionable, yet undeniably effective means. Fenrir lives his life by his own code and makes no apologies for it. Honestly, it is one of the things that Derrick hates, and simultaneously admires, most about the man.

"I'm glad that you are taking this all so calmly, Fenrir. But what happens when the Ministry of Magic finds out that you've claimed their Golden Boy? Do you really think that's going to make wizards warm up to werewolves if we go around impregnating them?"

Fenrir can't help but chuckle at his beta's words.

"You aren't seein' the other side of this, Derrick. Harry isn't some defenseless witch I took advantage of in some dark alley. He was an equal participant," trails off the werewolf as he thinks back, a lascivious grin on his features. " _More than equal_ at some points. I mean, Potter does this thing with his hips that—"

" _Fenrir_ , focus please."

Amused by the uncomfortable look on the other man's face, Fenrir chuckles.

"Funny, I seem to remember you and Scarlett holin' up for weeks when the two of you finally mated. When I finally did see you, you just had a dopey look on yer face. If I remember correctly, I had to slap the annoyin' thing offa ya'."

"Fine," admits Derrick, a smirk on his own face as he thinks back to his own mating to the redheaded wolf a few yards away. "However, you did have a point to make, right?"

"Yeah, I did," Fenrir answers nonchalantly, "As I was sayin', Harry in addition to bein' the 'Savior' and what not, is still the Ministry's Head Auror. If anyone was to vouch for werewolves, he'd be one that other wizards would actually listen to. Besides, couldn't hurt to have someone pro-lycan in the high levels of the Ministry of Magic."

"I hate that you have a good point."

"Most people do. Doesn't make me any less right though."

As the men speak, they are suddenly joined by a large owl that makes its way through the thick foliage. The tawny-feathered bird drops down to land on the remains of a fallen tree. Looking at the two werewolves, it fearlessly hoots in acknowledgement before going to clean its feathers. Both men stare at the bird then at each other. Neither werewolf is expecting the sudden mail, as Kingsley usually communicates with them via his Patronus. Derrick approaches the owl first and removes the letter tied to its extended leg. The werewolf isn't too surprised as he reads whom the unexpected note is addressed to.

"It's for you, Fenrir."

Raising an eyebrow, the large man makes his way over to his beta and the mail-carrying owl. Fenrir takes the offered letter only to be surprised that the envelope is heavier than it should be. Opening the flap, his brow furrows a bit in recognition.

"Fuck."

The swear wrapped in an annoyed growl easily catches Derrick's attention. He makes his way over to the other werewolf and attempts to peer over the man's wide shoulders.

"What is it?"

"It's a bloody Howler," replies Fenrir. The alpha glares at the telltale red paper that peeks out of the standard parchment envelope. 

"A Howler? Who has the balls to send you a howler?"

"Only one way to find out."

Opening the rest of the letter, the two werewolves watch as the red envelope hovers before them and reshapes itself into an angry scowl. Fenrir and Derrick both prepare to be hit with the auditory assault. However, only one of them is taken by further surprise when the voice of Ronald Weasley(amplified into a seething, high-pitched screech) breaks the eerie calm of the Forbidden Forest.

" **FENRIR GREYBACK, I AM GOING TO _FUCKING_ CASTRATE YOU IF YOU EVER SHOW YOUR FACE TO ME AGAIN! WHERE THE HELL DO YOU GET OFF BUGGERIN' MY BEST MATE! AND IF THAT WEREN'T BAD ENOUGH, NOW THE TWO OF YOU ARE THE WEREWOLF EQUIVALENT OF BEING MARRIED, WHATEVER THE _BLOODY HELL_ THAT IS! I WELCOME YOU INTO MY HOME, AROUND MY FAMILY, AND THE THANKS I GET IS THAT YOU GO BITE MY BEST FRIEND LIKE SOME ANIMAL! EXACTLY THE SORT OF THING I'D EXPECT FROM A REVOLTING MONSTER LIKE YOU, GREYBACK! WHAT? MY BROTHER WASN'T ENOUGH FOR YOU! YOU BETTER TAKE DAMN GOOD CARE OF YOUR "MATE" AND YOUR KID OR I AM GOING TO HUNT YOU DOWN AND HANG YOUR MANGY PELT ON MY WALL!** . . . There, that should do it. ' _Mione_ , I know how to send a Howler, for Merlin's sake! Mum taught me. Wait, _what?_ It's still going? Oh, bollocks—"

Once it has said its piece, the red letter flutters to the ground as useless red paper before ripping itself to pieces. For a few awkward seconds, both the alpha and beta werewolf, as well as Scarlett and the group of aurors are in complete shock. The Forbidden Forest seems even more unnaturally silent after the shrill tirade that caught everyone's attention.

Luckily, Fenrir is the first to recover. He puts the envelope that the Howler came in into his pocket. The man silently thanking whatever sense the redhead wizard had that he had not actually identified himself or Harry. After all, Fenrir is well aware that the last thing his wizard would appreciate is being ousted as pregnant and mated in front of the very aurors he is responsible for.

Clearing his throat, the werewolf turns to the silent onlookers.

"What're all you gapin' at?! The Forbidden Forest ain't gonna map itself! **GET BACK TO WORK!** "

Fenrir's commanding tone instantly snaps everyone out of their individual trances. All three aurors are seemingly smart enough not to question the strange howler out loud and dutifully return to their maps and runes. Scarlett exchanges a meaningful look with her mate before returning her attention back to the group of wizards.

When the alpha and beta are once alone in conversation, Fenrir feels a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"And I thought my in-laws were bad," comments Derrick, a commiserating expression on his face.

"Fuck off, Derrick."

The alpha's gruff words are spoken with a bit of humor, making the other wolf smirk.

"Well c'mon then, let's get back to work."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After a few more hours deep in the Forbidden Forest, the werewolves and wizards have no further disruptions—except for a few pesky Bowtruckles. The thin tree dwellers pelt the group with sticks and rocks when one of the aurors' wayward spells accidentally damages their protected trees. However, they quickly scatter after a few werewolf howls and sharp barks. Tired and nursing a few burgeoning bruises, the team makes their way into Hogsmeade ready to turn in for the night. With plans to meet up the next morning, the aurors head to their temporary housing, leaving the werewolves to their own devices.

When he opens the door to his Ministry-lent cottage, Fenrir is greeted by the always-welcoming sight of a certain pale, dark-haired wizard. Harry, clad in a baggy sweater and faded jeans, is brewing a pot of tea at the simple stove. A smile curves Fenrir's lips as he watches the Head Auror seamlessly transfigure a tumbler into a suitable teacup. Judging by the weary look on Harry's face, the Head Auror must have just arrived from a long day at the Ministry. Normally, the werewolf would be irritated with someone violating his personal space. Yet, as Fenrir watches the wizard carrying his cub scouring the small kitchen for the ingredients for a proper cuppa, a sense of satisfied peace settles upon the large man.

"Ya' know, I can get you yer own tea cup if you're plannin' to spend so much time here."

Noticing that he is no longer alone, Harry walks over to Fenrir. He stops just short of the man as he adjusts his glasses, the wizard's green eyes locking with his. Oddly enough, the werewolf finds the fearless action endearing.

"Sorry for dropping in like this, Fenrir. Unannounced and all," begins the wizard. "I figured that we should talk more about our situation and all that. My flat in London isn't exactly private and Grimmauld Place isn't an ideal environment for me at my current condition. Judging from the past, er,  _weekend_ , you don't seem to mind me being here, so here I am."

Fenrir senses that there is more to Harry's sudden appearance in the cottage, yet doesn't comment on it. 

"Alright."

 An awkward pause hangs in the air between the mated pair for a few moment. Fenrir only stares at Harry expectantly while the young wizard fidgets a bit under the intense stare. 

"So, er—how was your day?" begins the Head Auror.

"Fine. Yours?"

"Oh, it was alright. Er, are you sure nothing happened? Nothing out of the ordinary?"

Fenrir narrows his gaze in suspicion as Harry stares up at him expectantly. The werewolf simply lets the wizard continue as he tries to figure out the reason behind Harry's odd behavior. Folding his arms over his chest, the man's arm brushes against the front of his coat. The action crinkles the remains of the owl post currently tucked away in his jacket pocket. Fenrir's expression quickly shifts into a knowing smirk as he remembers the "special delivery" he received earlier that day and all the pieces click into place.

"You mean, besides that Howler that the red-headed whelp sent me?" the werewolf asks with a shit-eating grin. "Nope, not that I can recall."

A look of mortification settles on Harry's features as whatever hope he had that Fenrir had not received that delivery leaves him. The wizard closes his eyes  in resignation and drags a hand down his face.

"Fenrir, I am so sorry," begins Harry. "I still can't believe that Ron sent you a Howler, of all things." 

"He coulda sent worse."

"He shouldn't have sent anything! I told him to leave it alone, but he never listens. I'm an adult, I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Sure you are, pup." the alpha teases. His mirth is cut short as a detail comes to his attention. "Wait, how'd you even know about that Howler?"

"Oh, Hermione called to warn me. Apparently, he sent it once I left, after I told them about . . . well, everything, really. That was a long conversation, to say the least."

Catching the meaning of his words, the werewolf moves closer to Harry. Fenrir realizes that it couldn't have been easy for the wizard to explain to his friends that he is pregnant with Fenrir Greyback's child. The lycan would've preferred to be there to support his mate. The man has always preferred face to face conflict resolution. At the very least, a well-crafted glare daring either of them to say anything negative about claiming Harry would have definitely left an impression. Looking down into the wizard's deep green eyes, the alpha shrugs off any lingering irritation at the Howler. 

"Still, doesn't explain why you're apologizin'. It's not like you sent the bloody thing," soothes Fenrir, his hand carding through the unruly dark locks on his mate's head once he's within reach.

"But still. He is my best mate, I feel a little responsible for him. Thank Merlin, Hermione managed to calm him down enough that he only sent the Howler. When I was there, it took the two of us an hour just to convince him not to go confront you in person. He kept going on and on about how he want to deck you."

A chuckle escapes Fenrir's lips at the image of Ronald Weasley attempting to physically intimidate him away from Harry, his claimed mate. The wizard is tall and has some muscle, but he is far too lean to be a real challenge to a full-fledged werewolf. It would be a rather quick and unsatisfying battle. Yet, if the red-headed whelp's overeagerness to fight him is an indication of the depth of his loyalty to Harry, Fenrir can't really find it in him to take real offense to the challenge.

"That Howler was quite amusin', though. Haven't heard one of those in ages."

"I'm glad you found it so hilarious."

At the annoyance seeping into Harry's voice, large arms wrap around the wizard's slim body. Fenrir quickly takes notice that the embrace seems to instantly soothe the young wizard as he smirks down at him.

"Well pup, it doesn't matter how many Howlers your friend sends, I'm not going anywhere."

Harry jumps a bit in surprise when Fenrir's hands suddenly feel their way along the planes of his body, the werewolf completely unapologetic in his touches. The wizard looks to the side to hide the light blush spreading across his cheeks as his body starts to automatically respond to the other man's touch. However, Fenrir simply grins at the reaction and lowers his head to his mate's shoulder. His teasing nips and tortuously slow swipes of his tongue along the sensitive skin there draw out more of Harry's moans.

"Fenrir, s-stop—"

"You know you like it, pup."

"I didn't say that I didn't like it," retorts Harry as his own hands start to echo Fenrir's ministrations, his palms roaming over the man's wide chest. "Just that we don't always have to. I mean, we've been going at it for days. We even had a round this morning. Haven't you had enough?"

A large smirk spreads across the werewolf's face at the question.

"Can't ever have too much of a good thing, right?"

At that, Harry quirks an eyebrow. 

"I'm starting to think that you're just an insatiable wolf."

"I'm not about to deny that," Fenrir responds, his fingers tipping the wizard's chin so that his mouth lines up with his. "But can you blame me? You give just as good as you get, Potter." 

The two lean in, both eager to start what is sure to be a long kiss. Matching grins are on their lips as they meet, teasing and coaxing each other into a heated kiss. But just as they are about to get into the exchange, Fenrir and Harry are interrupted by a throat being cleared—loudly. From the doorway, Derrick and Scarlett smile at the blush forming on Harry's face and the annoyed look already on Fenrir's. As the wizard steps back from his overwhelming mate, the beta couple instantly notices their alpha's claiming mark peeking out from underneath the wizard's collar. To Harry's surprise, the two werewolves acknowledge him with a slight incline of their heads.

"Sorry to interrupt," begins the lone woman in the room, her tone light. "I'm Scarlett by the way. I don't think that we got a chance to be properly introduced last time."

"Oh, err—right," the wizard comments, a note of embarrassment to his voice as he remembers that particular event within the whirlwind of events that unfolded that night. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Oh I know, hard to miss the scar and all."

At the mention, Harry's hand unconsciously goes to his forehead.

Sensing the wizard's unease at the subject, Derrick extends his hand to Harry with a warm smile. His grey eyes quickly take in the Head Auror's slim form, knowing that is belies the wizard's impressive magical abilities.

"I'm Derrick. It's good to properly meet you, Harry."

Shaking the offered hand, the bespectacled wizard smiles back.

"Thanks, you too. Um, I was just making a pot of tea, would either of you like a cup?"

"Oh, that sounds lovely," chimes Scarlett. "I'll help."

As the red-headed werewolf goes to assist Harry, Fenrir and Derrick take a seat at the only table in the middle of the quaint cottage. It isn't long until the two dominant wolves are joined by their counterparts. Scarlett slides into the chair next to Derrick as Harry stands next to Fenrir.

"So, how's everything in the Forbidden Forest going?" asks the auror, sipping calmly at his tea as he leans against his mate's chair.

The attempt to start conversation is met by a myriad of surprised looks appearing on the three werewolves' faces.

"You're a high-level ministry official, Harry," confirms Derrick, leaning forward in his chair. "Don't you already know?"

"Not really. I mean, I get progress reports once a week that I have to review. However, those are mostly just informational data that lets the Ministry know the geography and terrain. So, other than those and a few requisition forms, I don't actually see all that much. I am a bit jealous though. I spent a lot of time in the Forbidden Forest during my years at Hogwarts, it would be nice to see it again when I'm not terrified for my life. To be honest, I would rather be out there with you all than at a desk, any day."

Lost in his musings, Harry doesn't notice the proud grin on Fenrir's face. Most wizards consider the Forbidden Forest a dangerous place to be avoided at all costs, yet once again Harry demonstrates that he is no ordinary wizard. "The Boy Who Lived" most likely had more reason than anyone to fear or despise the forest, yet Harry still regards it with wonder. After all, despite the fact that the alpha werewolf has a job to do, he personally believes that some places are supposed to remain untouched by humans and magic.

"It would be much more pleasant to report to your pretty face instead of havin' to deal with Kingsley and the rest of the Ministry on our case," replies Fenrir. 

"Why are they on your case?" wonders Harry out loud, his brow creasing. "From the look of things, you already have a quarter of the forest mapped out without any major incidents. That's pretty impressive seeing as the Forbidden Forest is practically a labyrinth if you don't know what you're doing. And if that isn't bad enough, Merlin knows what creatures are lurking in there. This one time in second year, Ron and I barely escaped with our lives from Aragog and his clan of Acromantulas. Not to mention the thestrals, the hippogriffs, the forest trolls, and I think there's even a few Blast-Ended Skrewts in there as well. But with the nature of the Forbidden Forest, there's really no way of knowing for sure. That is kind of the fun of it, though."

Noticing a trio of raised eyebrows from the three werewolves seated before him, Harry pauses in his ramblings. He shyly rubs the back of his neck underneath their gazes.

"What? I just told you that I've spent a lot of time in those woods. "

"Doin' what, exactly?"

At Fenrir's question, Harry's shyness melts away as he smirks mischievously. The werewolf is not at all prepared for the arousing reaction that look triggers. 

"Getting into trouble, what else?"

The alpha wolf that is normally so well in control, has to adjust himself subtly in his trousers at those teasing words. Fenrir is caught between hoping his betas catch a hint and give him and his new mate some alone time or simply throwing propriety to the wind and fucking Harry through the table—damn their current audience.

Looking down at the man sitting at the table, and completely oblivious to his mate's internal struggle, Harry notices the letter that contained the Howler sticking out of Fenrir's pocket. The Head Auror removes it with a frown as he recognizes the remains of Ron's scribbly handwriting.

"Merlin, I still can't believe Ronald Weasley, of all people, sent a Howler. Sorry again about my overprotective best friend."

"Stop apologizin', pup," replies Fenrir, pulling a more-than-willing Harry into his lap. A thick arm wraps instinctively around the wizard as he is perched upon the man's thigh. "When you live your life without givin' a fuck about what people think, it's bound to ruffle some feathers. I'm used to it. And besides, soon enough, neither of us will ever have to worry about what any wizard says."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry inquires warily.

"Well, once this map of the Forbidden Forest is done, we'll go live with the pack. And good luck getting a Howler through those wards."

"Wait, you don't live around here?"

"Nope, my pack resides in the depths of the Russian Taiga," answers Fenrir, the man resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. From his position, he is unable to see the look of surprise on the wizard's face as he continues. "I'm only in the area for this Ministry work. Most werewolves don't like towns and cities, not enough room to run about. Besides, the only way we can live without havin' to take that Wolfsbane swill is if we keep out of highly-populated areas. It's part of the agreement with the Ministry."

That revelation causes a palpable tension to settle in the room. Adjusting his glasses, the lone wizard clears his throat.

"Fenrir, I can't live in the middle of the woods, especially not in the Russian Taiga," states Harry, turning around in the man's lap. "I'm the Head of the Auror department, I have to be able to get to London on a daily basis. Not to mention, my family and friends are all in England. I don't particularly want to have to apparate everywhere I go. Besides, with the baby, I'm not supposed to do it that often. At the very least, I'll need a fireplace so I can access the Floo Network, but in my condition, even that has its hazards."

"Well, why don't you just quit the Ministry?"

The suggestion is immediately met with a look from Head Auror Harry James Potter that threatens a severe cut off of some rather-pleasurable activities for even suggesting it. Scarlett and Derrick watch this silent exchange, both fascinated and impressed by the way that the slim wizard holds his own against their intimidating alpha.

"I'll quit the Ministry of Magic the same day you quit being the Alpha of your pack. I may not like it all the time, but I am a part of the Wizarding World. Changing ages of rigidity, rewriting discriminatory laws, and hunting down Voldemort fanatics isn't easy work, but I do it to make sure that the Ministry of Magic protects and represents everyone. My work and my life is here in the U.K., Fenrir."

"But my pack isn't, Harry."

At the impasse, both men stare at each other. Both the stubborn wizard and unyielding werewolf seem equally steadfast in their positions. For the first time since they began their whirlwind(and perhaps ill-advised) romance, uncertainty enters their minds.

"It seems you two have some things to talk about, huh?" chimes in Scarlett from across the table. Derrick nodding along with her.

The wizard and the werewolf stare at the two with twin looks of annoyance as they come to terms with this first unforeseen roadblock.

Yet, despite these doubts, Fenrir tightens his grip on the wizard in his lap. Harry, in turn, smiles into his cup of tea at the reassuring gesture. After a little while, the werewolves begin talking about the next quadrant of the Forbidden Forest they have to explore. The wizard chimes in with helpful suggestions, all the while secure in the knowledge that he and Fenrir would figure out some way to work everything out.

 

* * *

 

The next day finds Fenrir plodding violently through the foot of fresh-fallen snow and towards his temporary home. Despite the issue that has come up in their relationship, both the werewolf and his mate had parted on hopeful terms. Still, the snow-covered trees and empty silence around him seem to do nothing to help the werewolf's simmering annoyance.

Fortunately, Fenrir knows that his mood isn't the fault of any particular person or event that has transpired lately. It is just the usual anxious behavior that afflicts all werewolves right before the moon becomes full. The skin-prickling restlessness that continues to intensify until it manifests into the shift from man to wolf.

Still, knowing the cause of his frustrations, doesn't exactly soothe them.

In preparation for this monthly event, the alpha had sent Scarlett and Derrick, along with the rest of the werewolves, back to the Russian wilderness. He alone and the team of aurors had spent most of the day just double-checking the sections they had already mapped and planning their next area to survey. The black-haired auror, that Fenrir now knows is named Abigail, had taken it upon herself to make a detailed list of the creatures suspected to live there along with providing her colleagues with the various methods to neutralize any possible threats.

Thankfully, it hadn't taken too long(the team of aurors perhaps sensing the werewolf's restlessness), allowing Fenrir to return home just as the sun prepares to set for the day.

Opening the door to his cottage, Fenrir is taken aback by the changes the small house has gone through in the hours he has been away. To say that the house has simply been redecorated, is a bit of an understatement. The interior has been cleaned from top to bottom, the cobwebs that have collected in the upper corners of the house have disappeared as well as the thin dust that has settled on the unused areas of the cottage. Here and there, the werewolf notices that some of Harry's personal effects have been moved in. And, unless the man is losing his mind, the one-room cottage has been magically expanded to accommodate the new additions to the house. Taking a whiff, the lycan is surprised to smell the delicious aroma of cooking meat underneath the cloying scent of magic.

"Oh! Err—Welcome home, Fenrir. You're back early."

At the greeting, Fenrir turns to see Harry coming out of one of the new backrooms. The frustration that has been picking at him most of the day recedes the second he spots his mate dressed in a comfortable looking t-shirt and lounge pants.

"Hullo, what went on here?"

"Well, let's just say that not everyone agrees with Ron's opinion of our mating. Hermione, Bill, and Fleur helped me bring my things and taught me a few helpful spells to keep everything in order. Bill even taught me a useful charm to keep unwanted visitors at bay. It's their present to us. You actually just missed them."

Fenrir, a bit overwhelmed with all the new information and changes, looks around his once bachelor home. It starts to sink in that he is a mated man with a child on the way. Reading the werewolf's expression as disapproval, Harry's excitement deflates.

"You don't like it, do you? I had a feeling that it might be a bit soon. After all, we haven't even talked about me moving in or anyth—"

Interrupting the wizard's rambling, Fenrir lifts Harry's chin so that they lock eyes—intense blue meeting deep green.

"Just because I wasn't expectin' it, doesn't mean I don't like it. You're my mate, Potter, of course I want you and the pup here."

The words make a small smile appear on the wizard's face.

"Um, I'll finish preparing dinner, then. I just figured how to properly work the oven. Am I wrong to assume that you like your steak cooked rare? I mean, I don't want to assume anything—"

"Wait, you cook?" interrupts Fenrir, cocking his head to the side. "Without a wand?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all, it's refreshin' actually. Most wizards I know rely on magic to do everythin' for 'em. It's like they don't know how to use their own hands."

"You forget, for the first eleven years of my life I didn't even know I was a wizard," replies "The Boy Who Lived" as he makes his way towards the kitchen, the werewolf following after him. "I learned how to do everything the muggle way first, then again my aunt and uncle sort of made me."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, err—I just did a lot of chores around the house. One of them, was cooking dinner. My Uncle Vernon liked steaks, a lot of steaks actually, complete with baked potatoes and peas. So, the second I was tall enough to reach the stove, it was my job to cook. Among other things."

Unbeknownst to Harry, the man behind him has only been half-listening to his anecdote. Fenrir might have asked more questions about his wizard's life with the Dursley's(he makes a note to do so later) if his attention hadn't just been switched to focus on his mate's body instead of his words.

Watching the wizard mind the contents within the pots on the stove, an intense, almost primal, gleam settles in the man's gaze. Fenrir is hypnotized by the entrancing movements of subtle hips and a perky bottom. Not sure if he simply finds the wizard that attractive or if the moon's influence on him has increased, the werewolf finds himself drawn to the oblivious Harry. Fenrir keeps moving closer until he is right behind the other male, startling the wizard a bit when he places his large hands on slim hips. From his place behind Harry, piercing blue eyes glance into a small pot containing bright, green peas.

"Never much liked vegetables."

"No one _loves_ them, but they're good for you. After all, you can't eat meat all the time, Fenrir and I need to boost my diet now that I'm eating for two. So, we'll have to suffer together."

Harry's breath hitches when a large palm begins rubbing slow circles over their growing child. His stomach has just started to curve in preparation.

"The cub's not even born yet and you already sound like a mother."

At the comment, an annoyed grumble leaves the wizard's lips. Fenrir leans down, his nose burying itself in dark locks to scent his mate. Pleased by the smell that is all Harry(yet laced with a hint of his own musk), the werewolf smiles.

"So, if I eat all my vegetables, do I get dessert?"

"I didn't make dess— _ah!_ ,"

Harry's words turn into a soft moan as the werewolf begins to lick the exposed skin of the wizard's throat. Not that the Head Auror would ever admit it, but he can't help but find himself turned on by the man's primal behavior. A gasp leaves Harry's throat as he feels a now familiar bulge pressing into him.

"Since you cleaned up so well, I'm goin' to have to scentmark everything all over again, including you, pup . . . Hmm, _especially_ you."

Running his nose along the column of flesh, Fenrir finds his mating mark on the pale skin. A rumble of approval reverberates through his chest. Feeling the vibration, Harry starts to turn around. However, he is stopped as large hands keep him firmly in place. Viridian eyes widen a bit, Harry's first instinct to fight his way out of the tight hold. However, after quickly realizing that the man completely outmatches him in strength, the wizard leans back into the embrace—confident that Fenrir won't hurt him. He leans his head to one side, Harry exposing more of his throat in what he hopes to be a non-threatening and submissive gesture. The action is rewarded with a low rumble of approval as the man starts to slowly lick the soft flesh.

"Fenrir? Are you okay?"

For a few moments, the question is left hanging in the air. Harry feels the man inhaling and exhaling a few times before his inquiry is finally answered.

"When it's this close to the full moon, instincts get triggered at the oddest times," explains Fenrir. He loosens his hold on Harry just before placing an apologetic kiss to his shoulder. "I should've warned you. I've been snapping at your aurors all day."

Taking a deep breath, Harry can't help but grin from his mate's reassurance.

"It's alright," replies the wizard. Now satisfied that it's safe to move away from the man, Harry starts plating dinner for the both of them. "So, how many days are there until the next full moon?"

"Two, maybe three."

Halting in his movement, Harry looks up at the werewolf with a serious expression. 

"So, what should I do?"

The seemingly-valid question makes Fenrir raise his eyebrow in confusion. 

"What do you mean? Just stay here like you've been doin'."

"But you'll be in your _other_ form, Fenrir," Harry starts, carefully choosing his words. "Will that be safe?"

Taking the wizard's hand, the werewolf gently tugs his mate closer. Harry, intrigued by the action, puts up no fight and closes the distance between them. Fenrir brings the pale hand to his lips, lightly nipping Harry's fingertips. The gentle gesture is so unexpectedly intimate, that the wizard's green eyes widen in shock.

"You will always be safe around me, regardless what form I take, Harry," assures the alpha wolf. His deep voice a soothing grumble. "You're my mate, you're covered in my scent, and you're carrying our cub. It's my job to protect the two of you."

Letting his words sink in for a moment, Fenrir's eyes then look up to stare in still-widened emerald ones. His smile slowly turns into the lecherous grin that Harry recognizes.

"Besides, if you left in your current condition, I'd just track you down. Like I warned you before, werewolves are _real_ possessive, especially when it comes to their pregnant mates."

"Alright, I get it. I'll stay. We wouldn't want you terrorizing London, I suppose," the joking tone belies Harry's slight embarrassment as his hand is still in Fenrir's. "So, what do you usually do when you . . . err, turn?"

"Usually, I return to the pack with Derrick and Scarlet," informs Fenrir, temporarily releasing his mate. "The pack prefers to shift together, but they'll be alright without me. This time I'll stay close to you. Probably stick to the woods around here and fill up the storehouse with some fresh venison and boar. You'll be cravin' more meat the further along you get, anyway."

As the man watches Harry digest all of this new information, Fenrir carries their plates over to the set table.

"You don't have to stay here with me," the wizard begins as both men take a seat across from each other. "I'll be alright by myself for a few days if you really want to go back to your pack."

Harry then starts to pour water into each of their glasses and place a slice of warm bread on each of their plates from the cloth-covered basket in the middle of the table. Whether it is one of the habits from the Dursley household that he may never be able to break or perhaps his own need to see to others well-being, the wizard wouldn't be able to say. Harry simply finds an odd sense of calm in doing everyday domestic tasks(Granted, it is a nice break from the issues that swamp the Auror Department). Regardless of the reason, it doesn't stop an amused smirk from appearing on the werewolf's face as he watches Harry.

"Not that I think you can't take care of yourself, but I'm not leavin' you here alone," Fenrir finally states, as he digs into the perfectly-cooked steak on his plate. "Mated pairs are s'possed to spend the full moon together."

The wizard is taken aback by the unspoken sentiment behind the man's words. Fenrir hadn't worded it like a command or even as an argument. From the man's tone, it seems like more of a romantic suggestion. Thinking it over in his head, Harry supposes that it would be nice to spend the night with the man that is his mate—even if he will be in canine form. Harry actually finds himself looking forward to enjoying intimacy of another kind with the man across from him. He can't stop the upturn of his lips as he watches Fenrir devour the food he made with gusto. The wizard discovers that it is oddly satisfying to see that his mate is pleased. And like everything else the man does, it is also a bit arousing.

"Alright, Fenrir," Harry begins, clearing his throat as he digs into his own meal. "We'll spend the full moon together."

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the moon is ready to appear in the sky a few nights later, Fenrir stands alone in a clearing. He figures it would be safer to shift away from Harry, allowing his wolf to discover his mate on his own terms. While he can shift at will and maintain a semblance of human rationality, the moon-influenced shifts have always been a more primal, instinctive experience. Standing amid the snow-covered woods surrounding Hogsmeade, the man listens to the wind traveling through the trees as he waits.

As the clouds above part, the full moon in all her glory bathes the dark forest and her loyal follower. The moment the first beam of moonlight hits his body, it instantly sets into motion the transformation from man to wolf. Fenrir closes his eyes as he prepares to embrace the familiarity of lycanthropy. Bones break and reform themselves as muscles shift to support the new body of Fenrir Greyback. Thick fur sprouts from the man's skin as he rears his head back to let out a long howl—the sound signaling to all within earshot the presence of the alpha werewolf.

The imposing grey wolf stretches his body, working out the dull soreness that always accompanies the shift. His hot breath materializes in the cold air as the wolf's piercing gaze studies his environment—the forest infinitely different through his canine senses. The alpha wolf's ears swivel back and forth, waiting to hear the answering call of his pack. Hearing nothing but he gusting wind, Fenrir remembers that he is away from them for a good reason, but can't quite recall why. He huffs, deciding to trust his instinct to not seek out his pack this full moon. Sniffing the air around him, unable to find his own scent markers, the canine then trots off to mark this new territory. His large paws leaving deep prints as he lopes off.

 

It is well past midnight by the time the werewolf makes his way back to the small cottage that is acting as his makeshift den. Along the way, he has managed to take down a large boar. Crimson blood stains the pristine snow as the wolf drags its heavy carcass behind him. Fenrir tosses the meat into the storehouse(the permanently cold weather of Hogsmeade turning it into a convenient outdoor freezer). He makes a note to properly portion it off later once he regains the use of opposable thumbs. Not worried about the blood attracting other predators, the large wolf trots up the stairs and pushes open the door, the locking mechanism activating behind him.

Licking the tasty blood off of his muzzle, the wolf enters the dark cottage. The only light comes from the dying fire and the bright moonlight streaming through the windows. Walking over to the fireplace, the wolf shakes off the snow that is sticking to his fur and in between the crevices of his large paws. The dying embers provide enough heat to dry his thick fur. Once comfortably warm, the canine breathes in the new shelter. He snaps to attention when he detects an additional scent besides his own. It isn't a threatening one, so the wolf doesn't act on it immediately. The lingering scent simply suggests that the owner of this new aroma has been present in the alpha's temporary home for some time. Smelling his own musk wrapped around it, an instant recognition returns to the wolf.

_**Mate . . .** _

Padding across the room, the wolf follows the intriguing scent into the rear of the cottage. Fenrir pushes open a bedroom door and is greeted by the sight of his mate safely asleep on a large bed— _their_ large bed if their well-blended scents are anything to go by. The moonlight from the open-curtain window cuts through the darkness and seems to focus right on the lone body in the bed. The wolf's sharp eyes attune themselves to the steady rise and fall of Harry's chest signaling that all is well. Nearing the smaller male, Fenrir stops in his tracks when a peculiar scent hits his nose.

_**My mate is with cub!** _

With an excited wag of his tail, the large canine hops onto the furniture with a grace that also shows off the strength contained in the wolf's powerful body. Careful not to disturb the sleeping wizard, he gently lies down beside him. Blissfully unaware of his additional company, Harry continues to sleep on his side and buried underneath the thick blanket. His dark hair, once-again tousled by sleep, sharply contrasts the bed's white pillows. Trademark glasses are folded neatly on the bedside table within arm's reach. Scenting the wizard along the curve of his neck, the wolf gently licks the soft skin. The tongue bath seems to wake Harry up as he turns his body over towards Fenrir. Cracking an eye open, sleepy emerald eyes don't seem to be too shocked by the large wolf taking up most of the bed.

"Did you have fun, Fenrir?"

At his name, the alpha wolf licks him some more. Harry smiles, chuckling when he feels the canine's warm huffs of breath by his ear.

"I'm glad you're back," the tired auror states with a yawn. "Never realized how drafty this cottage gets at night."

With those words, the wizard snuggles closer to the warmth of the werewolf beside him. Harry digs his fingers into the thick grey fur, seeming to enjoy the silkiness and added warmth it provides.The large canine is beyond pleased by his mate's calm reaction to his presence. Once Harry is settled against his side, Fenrir adjusts himself so that his head is resting lightly on the wizard's stomach. 

"Never thought that this would be my life," murmurs Harry.

Raising his head to look back at Harry, the wolf has what could pass as confusion on his face. A pale hand reaches out and starts to scratch behind the wolf's ears, remembering that Fang liked to be scratched there as well. The wolf's head lowers in pleasure as the touch works its magic.

"I should be used to this by now. After all, just about most of my life has not gone the way I thought it would. Still, pregnant and mated to Fenrir Greyback are definitely noteworthy surprises."

The statement earns the wizard an acknowledging rumble from the werewolf. Harry smiles at the response before scratching the tricky area that is behind the wolf's ear and extends to the back of his jaw. The attention makes the wolf inch closer as something close to a purr escapes the canine's muzzle. Lazy thumps of Fenrir's tail against the bedspread makes a smile appear on Harry's face.

"You know, when I first found out that I was pregnant, I wasn't all that scared. I was shocked and I had questions of course, but a part of me was a little glad. I mean, I always wanted a family, even if I'm not getting it the way I expected. More than anything, I was just worried about the baby. I mean, he's not even born yet and he's going to have to deal with not only being the son of Harry Potter, "The Boy Who Lived" and "The Saviour of the Wizarding World". He'll also be the son of the notorious Fenrir Greyback. There are people out there that aren't going to like that he's half werewolf and then there's going to be people that just won't like that he's half wizard. And then there's going to be a whole group of people upset that he's half of anything."

A low sound from the wolf catches the wizard's attention. Looking into the intense eyes of Fenrir Greyback in full lupine form comforts Harry, almost as if urging him to continue. His hand resumes petting the wolf's head, his fingers running through the surprisingly luxurious fur.

"Anyway, I guess being pregnant is making me a bit over cautious. I mean, he's still my baby, so I'll love him regardless. It's just that, it sort of hurts that he's going to be disliked and judged just for being who he is, just for who his parents are. My entire life, I've had to deal with being blamed for something I couldn't control, whether it was my parents being wizards or just being 'The Chosen One'. I know firsthand what that kind of pressure and immense responsibility can does to a child. Thank Merlin, Teddy doesn't have to deal with that too much, he'll have a chance to have a relatively normal life. Unfortunately, I don't think our baby will have the same luck. You and I are very different than Remus and Tonks, Fenrir. The world won't be as accepting, if at all, of us."

With a bittersweet smile, Harry eyes get a far-off look to them as his thoughts become internal. The wolf looks up then, unsure how to soothe the worry etched on his mate's features. A heavy sigh escapes the wizard's lips as his eyes refocus on the concerned wolf staring up at him.

"Alright, enough of that for one night, hmm? Let's get some sleep. Morning will come all too soon and I have an early budget meeting at the Ministry tomorrow."

Moving a bit to adjust the blankets around him, Harry settles back into the pillows. Just as he gets comfortable and closes his eyes, a long tongue laps along his cheek.

"Goodnight to you, too, Fenrir," adds Harry, a grin tugging at his lips.

With a satisfied huff, the wolf once again rests his head on Harry's stomach. The steady rise and fall lulls the canine into a light sleep, his sharp ears trained for any sign of potential danger to his mate and unborn cub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters of this fic!(I love gruff fluff). So, please let me know if you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> *It took much longer than I thought to edit it, hence the delay. But I think it came out alright. ^_^*
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> RENKA


	5. Reassurances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone!
> 
> I'm SO sorry about the lateness of this update(I honestly thought I had already posted it and have been already working on chapter 6). For that oversight, I won't hold you up with a long chapter note, so ENJOY!

Fenrir Greyback knows the instant that Harry returns home from his work at the Ministry of Magic. The familiar scent of his wizard's magic is a sharp contrast to the clean scent of the fresh fallen snow that is around him. A knowing grin tugs at the werewolf's lips as Fenrir catches a confirming whiff of Harry.

Outside the cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, the large man continues his task of the day—splitting wood for the fireplace. The menial labor clears Fenrir's head as the cold winter air brushes against the his skin. Oddly enough, the sensation is rather refreshing. Once the log he's been working on is split into smaller ones, the werewolf casually throws them onto the pile beside him. Fenrir then bends down to pick up the iron wedge once again and places it into the crevice of another large log. Continuing the steady downward swing of the sledgehammer in his hands, he starts splitting the new log on his chopping block. It isn't long before Harry makes an appearance as he makes his way out of the cottage. Bundled up, the wizard plods his way through the heavy snow towards Fenrir.

"Hello," greets Harry, his tone warm despite the frigid temperature. 

"Hullo to you too, pup."

"Fen, how on earth are you not frozen solid right now?" inquires The Head Auror with a small frown. He watches the man continue his work with a gleam of curiosity.

The question, paired with the new nickname, causes Fenrir to smirk knowingly as he takes a minute to regard his own attire. While the wizard is cocooned in a thick wool coat and scarf with knit gloves covering his hands, the werewolf is wearing a pair of worn jeans and a simple black tank. The man even has the nerve to wipe off some sweat from his brow as he stares back at his mate.

"Werewolves have high body heat," replies Fenrir, resting the long handle of the sledgehammer on his shoulders. "You of all people should know that, Potter."

Seeming to remember all the nights he has spent curling up next to the man, Harry makes a sound of acknowledgement. Fenrir watches as the wizard takes a seat on one of the larger logs nearby before returning to his work. For a few moments, the only sounds are the metallic clang of the sledgehammer meeting the iron wedge followed by the resulting crack of splitting wood.

"The snow really doesn't bother you at all, does it?"

Before answering the question, Fenrir tosses the now split wood onto the already impressively large pile. The pieces make a satisfying clack as they join their brethren.

"Not really. Besides workin' out here gets the blood pumpin'. I can't stay cooped up too long before I want to do somethin' _physical_. And since I was by my lonesome, I figured I might as well be productive."

"Er-yeah," replies Harry, picking up on the obvious undertone. He pries his eyes away from the entrancing sight of the well-muscled man effortlessly moving another heavy log to be split "So, um, how was the Forbidden Forest, today?"

Fenrir smirks as he notices the way his mate's gaze tends to linger on his body. It is quite a stroke to the werewolf's already impressive ego. However, Fenrir decides to entertain the wizard's conversation starter instead of pointing it out.

"Tricky as always. Can't say I ain't glad to be done with it for the day."

As Harry smiles in a commiserating way, the werewolf picks up on the subtle frustration in his companion's posture.

"I can relate. My day wasn't exactly a picnic either."

"The Ministry of Magic bein' a pain in the arse? How unusual."

"You're hilarious," Harry replies sarcastically, chuckling at the joke anyway. "The Auror Department is just being stretched farther and farther everyday, it seems. At this pace, we're not going to be able to keep up with all the demands of the Ministry. "

Sensing the weariness in that response, Fenrir quickly closes the distance between them in a few long strides. The wizard is surprised when the werewolf's hand gently tilts his face upward, but he doesn't move or even flinch at the touch. Pleased at that sign of trust, Fenrir searches Harry's eyes. He finds the wizard's bright green orbs as vivid as always, before moving to study the features of his mate's young face. The werewolf is satisfied to discover no physical signs of fatigue. Fenrir feels his own sharp gaze soften as Harry innocently stares back at him, the young auror's cheeks blushing at their prolonged close contact. 

"Don't over due it, pup," states Fenrir after a few moments as his thumb lazily caresses Harry's lower lip. "I don't wanna hear that you collapsed of exhaustion somewhere."

The utter seriousness, that the alpha wolf couldn't keep out of his voice even if he tried, makes the wizard smile.

"I'm fine. Besides, I told Kingsley about my err- _situation_ and he's almost as over-protective as you. Most of my morning was spent signing forms and filing paperwork. Trust me, I won't be doing anything remotely exciting until after the baby's first birthday from the looks of things."

Harry's words satisfy the werewolf as he removes his hand from the wizard's face. Crouching down in the snow, Fenrir makes himself level with the growing bump underneath his mate's thick coat. Harry curiously watches as the man slips his hand past the jacket, placing his large palm on top of their unborn child. When Fenrir's warm palm meets his mate's belly, a tingle seems to travel through the wizard. The infamous man is finds it endearing that the shiver his touch causes is not based in fear, that Harry actually desires it. Nothing short of awed reverence appears on the werewolf's face as he then feels the growing pup shifting beneath his hand in response. It has only been recently that they have been able to feel their baby move, but it's quickly becoming one of Fenrir's favorite past times.

". . . Thank you."

Those two words appear to shock Harry out of the shared intimate moment. The rather-adorable look of incredulity on the young wizard's face makes the alpha chuckle. His mate's reaction to his words isn't a surprise, admittedly those two words aren't ones that he says very often(if at all). The werewolf simply watches as Harry's eyes widen a bit.

"For what, exactly?"

"I know you're puttin' up with a lot for the sake of carryin' our cub. Just wanted to make sure you know that your efforts are appreciated, is all."

"Fenrir, I think you do a rather satisfactory job of showing me how much you _appreciate my efforts_ ," answers Harry with a grin. Fenrir has to repress an actually purr as he feels the wizard's fingers start running through his grey-streaked hair. "Besides, I want this baby just as much as you do. It's not that much trouble, really."

Still crouched before his mate, Fenrir smirks at the light blush that blossoms on the young face. As a cold breeze gusts by, making Harry shiver a bit as he adjusts his scarf, the werewolf stands up to his full height. He once again notices how the Head Auror is fascinated by the fluid movement and hidden grace of the action. Deciding to tease the wizard a bit more, Fenrir effortlessly maintains his lupine prowess as he stretches, making sure to show off the muscles that Harry's eye are drawn to.

"You got anythin' planned for tonight?" asks the alpha wolf, interrupting the staring from his mate.

"No, not really. Why?"

"There's somethin' I want to show you. I think you'll like it."

The playful comment has Harry raising an eyebrow in suspicion. As Fenrir watches the wizard try to figure out what he's up to, the werewolf grins to himself.  

"Fenrir, is this the beginning of one of your horribly-inappropriate, bad jokes?"

In any other circumstance, Fenrir can readily admit that Harry would be correct with his presumption. The werewolf can't help the deep chuckle that his little mate knows him so well already. Then again, it is no real secret that he has a taste for lewd humor.

"Course not. My offer is just that, nothin' crude about it."

"That's too bad," replies Harry, leaning forward on his seat as he attempts to stand back up. "I could've used a good laugh."

Offering a hand, Fenrir easily helps the wizard up and back on his feet. Harry murmurs a thanks as the werewolf placing a steadying hand on his lower back. When the added weight from the pregnancy had first started to throw off his equilibrium, Harry outright refused any help. Now, he takes any assistance rather gratefully. Fenrir assumes that the physical exhaustion has steadily worn down whatever pride the wizard has been holding onto. He can't complain though, after all it gives him even more opportunities to put his hands on Harry.

"Alright, Fenrir. So, where are you taking me tonight?"

At the wizard's question, Fenrir grins mischievously.

"You'll find out soon enough, pup. Now go inside and warm yourself up. The last thing you need is to catch a cold out here."

As Harry smiles and turns around to do just that, Fenrir can't help but give him a pat on the bottom to hurry him along. The werewolf is completely unprepared for the wizard's indignant yelp at the gesture. He truly hadn't expected the Head Auror of the Ministry of Magic to emit such a sound at the innocent teasing. So, lost in his barking laughter, Fenrir is taken by complete surprise when a well-aimed snowball hits him right in the face.

The playful growl that leaves his lips has Harry laughing as Fenrir easily scoops him up. The werewolf is unable to explain why he feels so carefree, yet he likes it. To be truthful, it has been some time since Fenrir hasn't had to focus on being the Alpha Werewolf of Europe and maintaining his packs. And while he was working with the Dark Lord and on the run as a fugitive of the Ministry, it left little time to simply enjoy life. But now, with Harry in his arms, happy and willingly, the man has a genuine smile on his face. Fenrir Greyback, despite all the things he's done in his life, has been gifted a mate and a pup on the way. It is humbling, yet at the same time, makes the man fiercely possessive of the growing family in his arms.

And for the first time in ages, Fenrir finds himself content as he carries his cheeky, pregnant mate into the warmth of their shared cabin.

 

* * *

 

Later that same night, the moonlight barely peeks through the thick foliage of the Forbidden Forest. Unlike Hogsmeade, the forest has no trace of winter's touch. A strong wind blows through the leaves, creating a rustling melody that fills in the eerie calmness as both Fenrir and Harry make their way deep into the enchanted weald.

With a sniff of the crisp air, Fenrir instantly identifies a few centaurs as well as some stags grazing nearby. He watches his mate continue his way through the dark woods just ahead of him, the tip of his wand lighting the way. Fenrir feels a smile tug on his lips as Harry meanders through the Forbidden Forest like it's his backyard, with a easy familiarity that few wizards possess. The aurors that the alpha wolf is currently charged with protecting are always a bit skittish in the sea of trees. In his mind, the inexperienced wizards depend a bit too much on their lycan companions to navigate as well as protect them.

Harry, on the other hand, is refreshingly-confident yet wary in his strides through the ominous forest. He doesn't flinch at every noise and rustle of leaves. The auror keeps himself alert without emanating the fear that attracts the dark and less friendly creatures of the Forbidden Forest. Fenrir supposes that ease developed from the many "adventures" his mate has had in the dark woods that surround Hogwarts. And as much as the werewolf likes the adventurous side of his wizard, it makes him worry as well.

In the six weeks that have passed since the two have been officially mated, Harry has not slowed down at all(even with the added weight of their quickly-growing child). The Head Auror has been doing his normal duties(paperwork only!) at the Ministry while simultaneously attending private appointments at Saint Mungo's and preparing for the baby. Sometimes, just watching the wizard makes the alpha wolf tired.

Fenrir does everything he can to ease the wizard's burdens as Harry just won't take outright help. Innocuous actions—like making sure that the house is well stocked with Harry's favorite foods and keeping the cottage warm—are the only ways the man is allowed to take care of the headstrong auror without an argument. It has only been recently that Harry allows Fenrir to help him as the additional weight makes itself known(like earlier by the wood pile). Yet on the other hand, the werewolf has absolutely no problem forcibly carrying his pregnant mate to bed from time to time for much needed rest.

"Fenrir, do you still know where we're going?" calls out Harry, the wizard interrupting the alpha wolf's thoughts.

Within a few strides the man easily catches up to the young auror. Scenting the air once again, Fenrir turns to head off of their current path.

"This way. It's just a bit further."

With a questioning look, Harry dutifully follows after the werewolf. The two walk for a few minutes more until they reach an open area of the forest. Pale moonlight fills the clearing and illuminates the tall grasses in the small meadow. Around the edges of the peaceful glade, the twisting trees of the Forbidden Forest act like a winding fence. A gust of wind stirs the grasses making the tall blades sway like ocean waves. Unlike most areas of the dark and eerie forest, this meadow seems to emanate serenity.

"Keep low and keep quiet pup," whispers Fenrir before Harry can say anything. "And put yer wand out."

Following the directions, the wizard lowers his body to join his companion on the soft ground of the ancient forest. With a mutter of "Nox" from Harry's lips, the wand is extinguished. The tall grasses around them cover both men rather well while allowing the couple to look out over the empty clearing.

It takes a few moments of anxious silence, but from the darkness of the Forbidden Forest walks out a lone unicorn. Its steps are hesitant as the silver stallion makes his way fully into the glade. He dutifully looks around for any threat as the moonlight glances off the proud single horn and silvery strands of his mane and tail. Finding nothing, the stallion turns his head back to the darkened forest he just emerged from. And after a low whinny, four unicorn mares make their way into the meadow followed by two newborn foals.

Watching the herd of the magnificent creatures, their silvery manes and tell-tale horns now all shining in moonlight, Harry's eyes widen. Fenrir smirks as his gaze remains on his mate, the wizard keeping himself low despite being enraptured with the unicorns. When he turns to Fenrir, Harry seems surprised to find that the werewolf's intense stare is already on him.

"Fenrir, they're amazing."

"Derrick and I found traces of them earlier today, so I figured they'd still be in the area."

As Harry turns his gaze back out to the grazing herd, Fenrir congratulates himself on this idea. "The Boy Who Lived" is completely mesmerized by the graceful equines, smirking a bit as the two foals chase each other around the small meadow in play. 

"I've only seen a unicorn once. Unfortunately, its blood was being used to sustain Voldemort," recalls Harry with a regretful sigh at the memory. "I still can't understand how anyone could kill something so pure."

"Figures," whispers Fenrir harshly, his tone carrying disgust with Voldemort's past actions. "Even I never dared to kill a unicorn. Not worth the bloody curse it carries."

The werewolf has witnessed, and even obeyed, some rather despicable orders from the Dark Lord over the years. However, he had only heard whispers and wild rumors of the foul methods that the wizard had used to cling to life. Killing such a pure creature as a unicorn and then drinking it's blood is a sin that even the darkest creatures would even dare commit. It is a crime against natural order itself. Lost in his thoughts, Fenrir is taken aback when he feels Harry's smaller hand settle atop his much larger one. The werewolf is given a small yet sincere smile from his mate as if sensing the disapproval.

"Thank you for bringing me here."

"Like I said, I'd thought you'd like it," replies the werewolf, the deep timbre barely concealing the affection for his mate. "It's not often you see unicorn herds around these parts. The thestrals usually take up most of the area."

At the mention of the winged, skeletal creatures, a fond smile appears on Harry's lips.

"Thestrals always remind me of my friend, Luna Lovegood. Besides me, she was one of the only other people who could see them at Hogwarts."

The name instantly reminds Fenrir of the photograph he had seen at the Weasley's home. Harry's clever witch friend had told him that the two have a special connection, knowing Harry's rather eventful past it shouldn't come as a surprise that witnessing death had united them. Remembering the pale, blonde-haired woman in the picture, the werewolf looks over to the wizard.

"This Luna, you and her close?"

"Yeah, you could say that. During the war and everything, she always found a way to cheer me up, no matter how horrible things got. Especially when Sirius, my godfather, died. At the time, Luna was one of the few people who understood what it was like to lose a loved one so unexpectedly. It helped talking to someone who knew what that kind of loss felt like."

Sensing his mate's sadness, Fenrir has no idea what to say. Offering the only comfort he knows how to, he pulls the wizard into his arms. Harry is startled by the sudden embrace but quickly calms as he is settled against a warm, broad chest. Once the auror is situated in his lap, the werewolf rests his chin atop the mess of dark hair. The unicorns look up at the sudden movement. Yet, sensing no ill intent from the couple, the small herd makes no move to run.

For a while, the two mates stay in their positions. Harry relaxes into the embrace as Fenrir thinks over his mate's experiences—at least, what the wizard has divulged to him. Every time he thinks about all that Harry has been through in his short life it makes him angry. It is one thing for grown adults to fight a war they started for one reason or another, but it's quite another for a child to be dragged into the fray. Fenrir is no stranger to the bloodshed and pain that war brings(hell, he has caused his own fair share of it), but he would never force a child to fight his battles no matter what some old prophecy foretold. There is an instinctual wrongness in his opinion that the young wizard in his lap has been through more than people thrice his age could even fathom. When Fenrir worked with the Dark Lord, Harry Potter had always been described as a means to an end, a great foe. But now, Fenrir can only see "The Boy Who Lived" and the "Saviour of the Wizarding World" as just Harry—the bespectacled, "never quite tame" dark-haired, and bewitching green-eyed wizard that is carrying his unborn pup. Hell, the young wizard still blushes anytime Fenrir makes a lewd joke.

The alpha wolf's simmering rage at not only Voldemort's, but the rest of the Wizarding World's, unjust treatment of Harry is surprisingly all encompassing. It only begins to subside at the strong protective urge that his mate stirs in him. The calmness that the wizard has right now—sitting in the middle of the Forbidden Forest and wrapped in the embrace of an infamous werewolf is like a balm. As if sensing the man's lingering anger, Harry starts to soothingly rub the arm that is currently holding him. 

And just like that, Fenrir's frustrated grumbles morph into soothing purrs.

"I can't wait to get you to the pack and away from all this wizarding shite," murmurs Fenrir as he holds Harry closer. The man lowers his head a bit to inhale the soft scent wafting from the wizard in his arms.

"Fen, I know you mean well, but I'm never going to be completely free from the wizarding world. No matter how far away you take me," Harry states, smiling at the man's possessiveness. "Besides, a part of me would still miss London, Diagon Alley, especially. There's a great restaurant there I'd think you'd like. It's a wizarding establishment, but they have a decent ale that I can't wait to taste again after the baby's born."

Fully aware of Harry's subtle attempt to sidestep the issue, Fenrir runs with the change in conversation.

"Ale sounds nice, but you should try the vodka they have in Russia. Nice and smooth with a strong kick at the end. My packmate Espen makes his own that puts even the finest muggle distillery to shame."

Turning around in the man's lap, Harry raises himself up a bit—just enough to lock eyes with Fenrir. The wizard's green, bespectacled gaze takes its time perusing the man's well-defined face.

"Let's go home," suggests Harry suddenly. His hand already disappearing into the folds of Fenrir's coat for the portkey that will transport them directly back to their cottage.

"Already?" the man asks with a raised eyebrow at the sudden request. "You don't like it out here or somethin'?"

"No, that's not it. I love it out here, actually. And as romantic as this setting is, I'd prefer to be in our bed when I show you my er- _appreciation_ for bringing me here."

At the wanderings of Harry's smaller hand across his chest paired with the light kisses now being pressed along his jaw, Fenrir grins. The wizard's somewhat awkward attempt at seduction makes the werewolf smirk with its unintentional effectiveness. As brave as Harry is in the face of danger, he still retains a bit of his juvenile shyness when it comes to talking about anything sexual. Fenrir enjoys the way his young mate's cheeks and ears turn a rather fetching shade of red before he starts tripping over his words. However, those endearing traits fade away the second the wizard is worked up enough to no longer be self conscious of his actions. A task that Fenrir has no problem helping Harry out with.

Arousal grows and begins to travel through the werewolf with his mate's attentions. Fenrir is surprised by the rather bold direction that Harry's hands are moving, yet does nothing to stop them. Then again, the man has never had any complaints with this method of distraction. If Harry wants to use sex to make the man forget the argument-inducing path of their conversation, who is Fenrir to deny him?

"So? Bed?" ventures out Harry, nervousness leaking into this voice despite his well-placed kisses. 

"You read my mind, pup."

Wrapping an arm around Harry's slim waist, the werewolf activates the portkey and transports them back home. The unicorns look up at the flare of magic but then quickly return to grazing in the moonlit meadow.

 

* * *

 

The snowy village of Hogsmeade is bustling as its residents finish their daily errands. Wizards and witches of all shapes and sizes enter the small shops and local eateries lining the snow-covered streets. The Three Broomsticks is crowded with its loyal, rowdy patrons that come in to escape the cold with a warm butterbeer. Walking by the establishment, Harry Potter continues his conversation with the red-headed werewolf beside him, the scent of the sweet drink tempting his tastebuds.

"It really was beautiful out there in the heart of the woods. There's just endless nature around you and those unicorns were breathtaking. I completely understand why Fenrir loves the depths of the forest as much as he does. It's a nice break from the hustle of the city."

"I figured he took you out there last week," comments Scarlett with a knowing smile. "I bet the two of you had some fun afterwards, eh?"

Blushing a bit at the insinuation, Harry clears his throat. The woman beside him chuckles at the expression, knowing instantly that she's right. Harry, however ignores his growing embarrassment to ask the question that is behind this particular walk with the least intimidating of Fenrir's betas.

"Umm, Scarlett,"begins the wizard with slight hesitation, "Since that night, Fenrir keeps mentioning the pack and his life back in the Taiga. I think he's a bit homesick. Do you think that maybe he's trying to hint that he wants to go back soon?"

Sensing the worry in Harry's question, the red-headed werewolf smiles reassuringly.

"Well, as long as I've known him, Fenrir is fond of anywhere he can run wild and get a good drink. However, he is an alpha so he's going to want to return to his pack eventually, wherever they may be. Sure the pack doesn't completely rely on him, but we still look up to him as our leader. He has responsibilities."

"I know, and it's not like I want him to give them up or anything," states Harry, his face reflecting the seriousness of his words. "I just wish he understood that I have responsibilities too."

Reaching into his Honeydukes bag, the pregnant wizard pulls out a chocolate frog to nibble on as they walk. He pockets the collectible card with a smile as he sees the familiar face of Albus Dumbledore on its flat surface.

"I'm a wizard, I'm not a werewolf," continues Harry.  "Clearly, I don't understand everything that happens in a pack. I just don't know how to go about being a good mate for Fenrir."

Unbeknownst to Harry, Scarlett's expression softens as she listens to him. The wizard's own eyes are downcast as he retreats into his thoughts with a look of worry on his features. Harry has been concerned about this issue for some time, unable to properly bring it up to his werewolf. After all, being mated to Fenrir Greyback is more than just being mated to any werewolf, he's mated to the Alpha of the entire European Werewolf Population. Despite Harry's own fame, it is a rather daunting thought. The auror, like many of his fellow wizards, is woefully ignorant of werewolf culture. Feeling a hand settle on his shoulder, Harry's bright green eyes to look up. 

"Harry, you are doing just fine," begins Scarlett, the red-headed beta smiling encouragingly. "Besides, there's no wrong or right way to be a mate, especially to an alpha like Fenrir Greyback. As cliche as it may sound, just be yourself. After all, that's why Fenrir claimed you in the first place, right? And don't worry, you'll get the hang of werewolf pack dynamics. It wasn't easy for me to get either."

"But you're a werewolf. I thought that hierarchy was based on instinct, doesn't it come naturally to you?"

"Well, it was a bit different for me," the redhead informs, smirking at Harry's confusion. "I wasn't born a werewolf and I wasn't attacked by one. I chose to be a werewolf in order to be with Derrick. I willingly let him bite me when he was under the influence of the full moon."

"You _chose_ lycanthropy?" Harry asks, lowering his voice to avoid drawing unwanted attention to their conversation.

"Yes. At the time, it still wasn't normal for a witch to live with a werewolf. There was still a lot of prejudice and fear, on both sides. The way I saw it, it was either I had to bear with the pain of leaving Derrick or bear with the pain of his bite. I made my choice, fully knowing that some people, even my own family, would never understand or condone it. After that, everything else eventually fell into place."

Thinking over the woman's words, Harry becomes silent.

"Do you ever regret it, Scarlett?"

"What? Being a werewolf?"

"No," the wizard quickly clarifies. "What I meant was, do you regret sacrificing so much to be with Derrick?"

"I don't think of it as sacrificing anything. Derrick never asked me to become a werewolf, he already loved me as I was. And even as a werewolf, I still have my wand for the occasional spell and I still see some of my family from time to time. I'm truly happy with my life," explains Scarlett with a genuine smile on her face. "Now, I'm not saying that you should ask Fenrir to bite you or anything, Harry. Nowadays, plenty of werewolves mate wizards and witches without turning them. While there are still prejudices, it isn't nearly as bad as things used to be a few decades ago. Didn't your friend Lupin marry a witch without biting her?"

"Yes, he did," confirms Harry, remembering his pseudo-godfather. "Remus and Tonks were very happy together, they loved each other very much. Their son, Teddy, is proof of that."

"Exactly. You and Fenrir will be just fine. I can tell that the alpha is completely crazy about you. And to be honest, I can't wait to see him as a father."

The comment makes Harry chuckle as he subconsciously rubs a hand over his abdomen. A few well-cast charms hide the wizard's swollen stomach as well as protect the growing baby from the passersby on the street. As they turn a corner, Harry and Scarlett find Derrick walking towards them. The tall man's face breaks into an easy smile as he spots his mate, as well as his alpha's, strolling along. Making his way through the mass of people, Derrick approaches his red-headed mate and leans in to share a quick greeting kiss. Harry finds himself grinning as the easy affection between the two.

"Scar, I've been looking all over Hogsmeade for you two. It's hard to distinguish scents with all these people filling the streets," begins the beta werewolf before shifting his attention to the wizard. "Harry, Fenrir wanted me to tell you that he'd be late tonight. He had to go to the Ministry to talk with Shacklebolt."

Processing the new information, the young auror can't help the disappointment that lances through him. Fenrir's presence is one that he has come to crave the further along his pregnancy progresses, to the point that the werewolf's absence has a rather crabby effect on his mood. However, Harry just sighs as he recalls a conversation that he had with the Minister of Magic.  

"That's right, Kingsley mentioned that he wanted to talk with Fenrir the other day. The Ministry is very anxious to have a complete, comprehensive map of the Forbidden Forest. It requires a lot of diplomacy and paperwork to allow your group into the territories of so many magical creatures."

Harry's train of thought is suddenly interrupted when a dark-haired witch runs up to Derrick, in her hands is a heavy and ancient looking book. Her round face is flushed as she tries to catch her breath. Harry instantly recognizes Abigail, the industrious researcher of the Auror Department that he just promoted to field work, as she makes unflinching eye contact with the tall beta werewolf.

"Derrick, I need to see Mr. Greyback immediately! It's important!"

"Abigail, can it wait? Fenrir's in a meeting at the Ministry right now. Who knows when he'll get out of it."

"But it's really important!" insists the witch. As she speaks, Abigail's eyes narrow with purpose. "I think I found out something amazing that could change everything we thought about the Forbidden Forest! I just couldn't wait to tell him about it. It's nothing short of remarkable!"

"What's going on, Abigail?" questions Harry, noticing how crestfallen the witch becomes upon hearing that Fenrir is otherwise occupied.

Turning her attention away from Derrick, Abigail is surprised to see her boss casually standing beside Scarlett. The Head Auror has an amused smile as she blanches, the young witch's face becoming a blank sheet. In her excitement, Abigail had completely missed the powerful wizard. 

" _H-Head Auror Potter?!_ What are you doing out here, sir?" the witch inquires as she nervously straightens out her robes. "Was there a problem in the last report?"

"No, it was perfectly fine, as always. And Abigail, I've told you before you don't have to call me 'sir'," replies the auror with a good-natured smirk. "It makes me feel old."

"Oh, yes, of course. I apologize."

Taking a moment, Harry thinks over what exactly to tell the younger auror. Abigail is a clever witch(she often reminds him of a younger version of Hermione), so he knows that lying is an insult to her intelligence. However, he still isn't exactly comfortable with letting her know the exact details of the relationship that he has with Fenrir Greyback.

"I'm actually staying with Fenrir," divulges the wizard, answering the witch's question. "For a while now, I've been a bit curious to see your progress in the Forbidden Forest with my own eyes and Fenrir was kind enough to give me a bit of a private tour the other night. It's very impressive that you all have made such headway in such a short amount of time."

"Oh, I didn't know that you and Mr.Greyback were friends."

"Yeah, we're Mates," replies Harry, the double meaning of the term making a grin appear on his face as well as the two werewolves beside him. He subconsciously rubs the side of his neck, touching Fenrir's claiming mark that is still embedded in his skin.

Unfortunately, the action shifts the collar of the Head Auror's shirt and reveals the claiming mark adorning his pale skin. Spotting the tell-tale mark on Harry's throat, Abigail blanches considerably as she recognizes what the bruise means. Then again, after spending so much time with lycanthropes it doesn't take much for her mind to make the connection.

"Oh! That's-ah, wonderful," comments the witch awkwardly after realizing that she was openly staring at Harry's throat.

"Abigail, you said that you had a discovery you wanted to share with us?" prompts Derrick, effectively changing the subject.

"Oh right! Well, I was looking over some older attempted maps of the Forbidden Forest in the Ministry's archives, trying to compare their notes to ours. I noticed how there were specific notes about the species of vegetation and where each plant species could be found. So, I took it upon myself to cross-reference the origins and uses of the various plantlife.

"And, what is the issue?"

If Abigail noticed Derrick's tone, she makes no sign of it. Harry supposes she is simply focused on her discovery and a bit over eager to share her thoughts.

"Well, as most of us know, the Forbidden Forest is ancient. Some of the trees have been dated as thousands of years old, some are even from Merlin's time. However, there are new, completely different tree species in the forest that are as young as a century or two. There are even a few species of trees and shrubbery that are native to areas of the Americas and remote parts of Asia, obviously these plants did not come to the Forbidden Forest naturally. These trees were purposefully transplanted here and over time they have massively changed the ecosystem."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that the Forbidden Forest isn't merely  a natural occurrence," replies the witch, finally coming to her conclusion(much to Derrick's relief). "It was _specifically cultivated_. The Forbidden Forest was planned, landscaped if you will. And I think that it was designed that way in an effort to organically attract certain magical creatures."

"Why?" Scarlett inquires, voicing the question on everyone's mind.

"Well, the most logical answer is to protect Hogwarts."

"But the school has all sorts of wards and spells to protect it," comments Harry, taking a moment to think. "Unless, the creatures in the Forbidden Forest are supposed to be a backup plan in case those spells are negated."

"Exactly!" Abigail exclaims with excitement all over her soft features. "Working on this theory, I sent some samples to Hogwarts' Herbology teacher, Professor Longbottom, who has confirmed my findings. He even sent me this book for reference."

Opening the book in her arms, Abigail begins flipping through the aged pages. The book itself seems to emanate a soft floral and earthy dirt scent that reminds Harry of the Professor Sprout's greenhouses at Hogwarts. Apparently, the tome is an ancient guide to magical plant life as a flowering vine starts to crawl out of the book's spine as Abigail continues to make her case. Harry is momentarily distracted by the sweet orange scent the blooms emit.

"The tall grasses within the Forbidden Forest are a favorite nesting material of thestrals and unicorns as well. Some of the tree species are known to be favorites of Bowtruckles. Even the geography of the land has been terraformed to be excellent for werewolf packs as the area has a vast underground cave system. Not to mention the trolls and other creatures attracted by the. . . "

As Abigail starts to ramble on, Harry, Scarlett, and Derrick are silent as they process all the information being told to them by the witch. Multiple looks of surprise are on each of their faces, however the trio all seem to come to the same conclusion.

"So basically, you're saying that the Ministry made this forest and is now enlisting us to fix their runaway problem?" questions Derrick, before a smirk appears on his face. "Fenrir will just love to hear this."

"Well, I didn't say that the Ministry planted it initially," Abigail protests, a blush on her face. "By the look of things, I think parts of the Forbidden Forest were actually planted around the time Hogwarts was erected in the 10th century. The heart of the Forbidden Forest itself is ancient, there's no way to date the exact time it started to grow."

Harry turns to the clever witch with a smile.

"Good work, Abigail."

"T-thank you, sir. I mean, Harry."

 

* * *

 

When Harry makes his way back into the cottage he shares with his werewolf, a sigh of relief leaves his lips at the warmth inside the small home. He is a bit disheartened to find that Fenrir has still not returned from his business at the Ministry. Shedding his layers of clothes until he is in a long sleeved t-shirt and jeans, he makes his way to the kitchen. The wizard puts away his purchases before plodding his way towards the bedroom. As the pregnancy continues on, the "Boy Who Lived" finds himself becoming tired much quicker than usual(This is one of those times when having an alpha werewolf around to carry you to bed is convenient, no matter what your pride thinks).

So, intending to only doze off for about twenty minutes or so, the wizard sinks into the welcoming, yet empty, bed. He removes his glasses, placing them gently on the bedside table before snuggling under the blankets. A smile makes it onto his face as he is completely enrobed by Fenrir's lingering scent—the next best thing to having the man there himself.

When he opens his eyes next, Harry is surprised to awaken to a darkened cottage. His twenty-minute nap had apparently transformed into a four-hour one.

However, Harry is more surprised to find himself lying on top of a sleeping Fenrir. The wizard's cheek is pressed against the firm warmth of the man's chest, his chest hair tickling the sensitive skin. Deep in sleep, the werewolf snores away, making a chuckle escape Harry's lips. Slowly, the wizard raises his head. It takes a few moments for emerald eyes to adjust to the low light as they take in the man's features that have been softened by sleep. From a quick look around their bedroom, the werewolf had returned home from the Ministry and simply joined his sleeping mate in bed. Fenrir had not even bothered to aim his clothing anywhere near the laundry hamper. Moving slowly, the wizard starts to raise his body in order to move off of the large man.

"Where are you goin', pup?" grumbles out the man, his speech slurred a bit from sleep. Apparently, the man wasn't as fast asleep as Harry initially thought.

For a moment, the wizard is speechless by the reaction that the rough quality of Fenrir's voice arouses. The deep rumble is somehow exponentially more intimate outside their _physical_ bedroom activities. It takes Harry a few breaths to calm himself before settling back on the man beneath him.

"I was just going to my side of the bed, that's all."

"Why?"

"Well, it can't be too comfortable to sleep with me, I mean _us_ , on top of you."

At the comment, Fenrir wraps his arm tighter around the wizard and settles him back on his chest.

"I was doin' just fine until you started to move around. Besides, if I didn't want you here, I wouldn't have put you both here."

"Oh, Alright then."

With that settled, Harry relaxes completely on the man's chest. A large hand begins running up and down his back, easing him back into sleep. As his eyes start to drift close, Harry asks the questions that have been on his mind since he woke up.

"So, how long have you been back?"

"A few hours," grumbles out Fenrir.

"Did everything go alright with Kingsley?"

The quasi-innocent question makes the werewolf smile. Running his hand through the unruly locks of his mate he cracks an eye open.

"Heard about that, did you?"

"Yeah. Word travels fast around the Ministry of Magic."

Fenrir chuckles at the comment, knowing the truth of those words. However, as his mind shifts to his meeting with Kingsley, he takes a deep breath—effectively rising the wizard on his chest with the effort. Harry smirks at the movement as the man's breathing returns to its normal pace.

"It's nothin' to worry about. He just wanted to make sure everythin' is on track."

"Good," replies the wizard, his words slightly slurred by a yawn. "I'm glad it wasn't anything serious."

As Harry falls back asleep, Fenrir stays awake as a certain memory replays itself through his mind . . .

 

_Ah, Fenrir, I'm glad that you made it. How's everything in the Forbidden Forest?"_

_"Cut the crap, Kingsley."_

_At the annoyed tone, Kingsley raises an eyebrow. From his seat at his hand-carved desk, the Minister of Magic watches as the large werewolf strides his way into the spacious office. Fenrir's gait instantly lets the wizard know that the man is in no mood for any games. However, Kingsley still isn't completely sure what has him so upset._

_"It's common courtesy to inquire into a guest's work, Fenrir."_

_"We both know that I'm not here to talk about the Forbidden Forest. You could've just sent your Patronus or an owl, for that."_

_With a deep breath, Kingsley leans back in his seat. Resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, he folds his hands together in thought. The Minister takes a moment to think over his words, as he has no desire to further enrage an already-annoyed werewolf._

_"Alright then, I'll just address the issue then. Harry has told me about his situation, that the two of you are mated and that he is pregnant with your child."_

_Letting the statement hang in the air between them, Kingsley keeps his gaze even on the man before his desk. Fenrir's eyes sharpen, but other than that the werewolf makes no movement to acknowledge the statement._

_"I have made sure that all his work for the next six months is nothing too strenuous," continues Shacklebolt. "I've also forbidden him from going out on field investigations. Even though this means I'll be without my best expert on the Dark Arts for quite some time."_

_"And?"_

_At the single word, Kingsley's attention is instantly refocused on the werewolf. Fenrir's tone may suggest his frustration but his body language isn't as subtle. The intimidating man glares down at the Minister of Magic in a way few, if any people, would dare._

_"And what, Fenrir?"_

_"Don't insult my intelligence, Shacklebolt. I know that you have 'grievances', so let's hear 'em."_

_Leaning forward, the large wizard moves his elbows to rest on the surface of the polished desk._

_"I'm concerned, I won't lie. Everything is alright now, since this development is only known to select people. However, once the truth comes out to the public, things will be very hard for the two of you. Harry, especially."_

_"The pup and I will handle it, when it comes up."_

_"Heed my warning Fenrir. Don't do anything that will give reason for the Ministry to take action. When this becomes known, believe that there will be those that will think you took advantage of Harry. For better or worse, Harry is a symbol, he's the 'Savior of the Wizarding World'. People don't react well to their symbols being . . . tainted, for the lack of a better word. They might even deem it the type of action to remove your mate and child from you."_

_At the words, a noticeable darkness settles on the alpha wolf. A low growl emits from his throat as the mere thought of Harry being taken away from him makes his inner wolf see red. Stalking closer to the ornate desk, Fenrir places his hands on the surface with the eerie calmness of the apex predator that he is. He locks his intense gaze with the Minister's as his voice comes out in a low, warning tone._

_"Potter is **mine** , Kingsley. He gave himself to me of his own will. I personally promise you that if the Ministry even attempts to take him or our pup from me I will unleash a rampage on all of you wizards that will make Voldemort's reign seem like a fuckin' fairy tale, got me?"_

_For a moment, silence passes between the two men. Kingsley Shacklebolt cannot help the fear that the intense blue eyes instill. Anger is one thing, but the coldness in the werewolf's gaze is truly terror inspiring. Despite his recent change in disposition, this is the same man that has been accused of tearing wizards to shreds during the war. Not that large enough pieces of the victims' bodies have been found to confirm such atrocities. However, despite all of these thoughts, what truly leaves the Minister of Magic speechless is the reason behind them. This pure rage is generated from the affection that the notorious werewolf has developed for Harry James Potter._

_"You're wasting that threat on me, however I will pass it along to the rest of the Ministry if you like," begins Kingsley with a knowing smile. "Fenrir, I have nothing personal against you. And Harry, is an adult, contrary to popular belief. He makes his own decisions."_

_"Then why this big meetin'?"_

_"Two reasons. The first reason, even though I am happy for you and Harry, you still have a job for the Ministry to do. As Minister, I just want to make sure that you aren't getting distracted."_

_"You have the progress map, Kingsley. Obviously, I'm not."_

_The man lets out a chuckle. His stern face wrinkling up in a smile as his eyes drift over to look at the parchment map sitting on his desk. To Fenrir's credit, the Forbidden Forest is more than halfway charted. The Ministry is more than satisfied with the detailed survey of the lands and the various territories established by the forest's denizens. It has been six months, and the team has made excellent progress and all without any major injury. Even the members of the Ministry that remain distrustful of Fenrir are satisfied with the werewolf's efficiency._

_"So, I hear that Harry now lives with you?"_

_Raising an eyebrow at Kingsley's question, Fenrir's face hardens with anger._

_"Did you think I'd leave my pregnant mate alone?"_

_Putting up his hands in no offense, the Minister continues._

_"I was just curious. Let's move on to reason number two. I already can't use Harry in the field due to your 'influence'. I'm afraid that he won't be able to maintain his office as Head Auror if you don't take extra care of him."_

_"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! I take care of him just fine!"_

_"What I mean, Mr. Greyback," begins Kingsley, his own tone now as hard as the werewolf's. "Is that he thinks that he can do everything. We both know that Harry is tough, he always has been. However, he is pregnant and now his priority is to take care of the child he is carrying."_

_The Minister of Magic takes a breath as prepares to level some cold hard truth to the werewolf before him._

_"Head Auror isn't just a title, it is a highly-coveted position that all my aurors are constantly vying for. So far, Harry has done an excellent job proving that he deserves the position even at his young age. Every auror that follows him, respects him and we all are indebted to him for ridding the world of the Dark Lord. However, when this news comes out—and you are fooling yourself if you think it won't—there is a very high possibility some will use it to discredit all the work that Harry has done. I don't want that to happen, do you?"_

_"No, the pup loves his work," Fenrir admits. "It would devastate him."_

_"Exactly, so I suggest that we both increase our efforts to ease things for him. After all, even the Minister of Magic can only hold off the 'Daily Prophet' for so long. When that day comes, we'll have to think of the best way to present this situation."_

_The undeniable truth of the man's words make Fenrir think long and hard. As much as he wants to keep Harry away from all the bureaucracy of the wizarding world, it is becoming more and more evident that it is near impossible. Fenrir knows better than anyone that the Ministry of Magic is capable of making life a living hell, especially for Harry._

_"Kingsley, I want your word that you'll do everything to protect Harry and our cub. I don't give a shite what any wizard says about me, but they haven't done anythin' wrong."_

_"You have my word," agrees Kingsley._

Returning to the present, Fenrir eyes drift closed as he takes a deep inhale of his mate, letting Harry's scent linger before exhaling it. His arms tighten ever so slightly around the slumbering wizard, the werewolf needing to feel the reassuring weight of his pregnant mate in his arms. At the action, Harry cuddles even closer to Fenrir with a soft smile on his lips, unbeknownst of the thoughts swirling about in the alpha wolf's mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's quite a bit more plot in this chapter, as well as more development in Fenrir and Harry's relationship. I personally love the wood-splitting scene, it was the most fun to write for me. The real point of this chapter was to establish their relationship and intimacy outside of the bedroom.
> 
> Next Chapter, a little trouble in paradise.
> 
> Later days!
> 
> -RENKA


	6. Culture Clash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't hold you up with a long author's note, so just some quick business to get out of the way.
> 
> THANK YOU ALL for all the comments, kudos, and views!
> 
> Warnings: Umm, gratuitous cursing?(You'll see why as you read)  
> *And as always, this is unbeta'd. All the mistakes are mine.*
> 
> ENJOY!

Harry James Potter has never been one to let any task unnerve him. After all, he is a Gryffindor and he faces every endeavor with the courage for which his House was founded upon. Whether it's battling a deadly Basilisk or defeating dark wizards, the youngest Head Auror in the entire history of the Ministry of Magic has always managed to keep his wits about him. However, with this particular task before him, even the "Saviour of the Wizarding World" has a few hesitations.

With a deep breath, Harry firms his grip on the stepstool that he is currently perched upon as he shifts his weight in order to raise his foot. The pregnant wizard is attempting to go from the first step of the stool to the second highest step. This normally-easy feat is somewhat complicated by Harry's additional weight and the precarious height of being a full foot and a half off the ground.

If he wasn't so focused on maintaining his balance, the former seeker of the Gryffindor House would laugh at the irony.

"What are you doin' up there?" questions Fenrir, as he walks into the main room of the cottage.

"I'm cleaning," the bespectacled wizard replies matter-of-factly. His focus on re-establishing his balance. "Though at the moment, I'm simply trying not to fall."

Fenrir crosses the room as the words leave Harry's mouth, the man's long stride makes short work of the distance. The alpha settles one of his large hands on the small of the wizard's back. At first, Harry is surprised by the ease of the casual touch, yet the auror easily relaxes into it. His body is almost conditioned to relax at even the slightest touch from his mate. The wizard smiles to himself as he feels the heat of the man's wide palm seep through the material of his shirt.

And with that simple gesture, Fenrir has provided the wizard with the extra stability needed to complete his task.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem, pup."

With his wand sticking out of his back pocket, Harry arranges the rag in his hand until he reaches a clean area on the cloth. The wizard's green eyes zero in on the cobweb that has skillfully evaded his cleaning charms for the last half of an hour or so. Now that he is properly balanced on the step ladder, Harry finally reaches the dust-collecting web at the very top of the fireplace with a victorious grin. Fenrir simply smirks at the tiny battle that his mate has won.

"I've tried all the spells and charms I can think of but none of them are getting the house quite clean enough," informs the Head Auror, as he continues to dust the mantle of the fireplace. "So, now I'm doing it the muggle way."

"Is it workin'?" asks the werewolf, removing his support once his pregnant wizard is balanced again.

"A little. I'm still devising a plan to tackle the draft coming from one of these windows."

As his green eyes narrow at the aforementioned windows around the cottage, Harry turns around to see Fenrir chuckling to himself. The wizard takes a moment to step down off the ladder completely before raising an eyebrow at the imposing man's unexpected reaction.

"And what _exactly_ is so funny?" inquires Harry, his arms crossing over his chest.

"You're nestin'. It's all makin' sense now."

"Nesting?"

"When a female werewolf gets pregnant, she cleans out and prepares her 'den' to make sure that everythin' is in order for her cubs," Fenrir explains as he takes a seat on the sofa, the man making himself comfortable on the plush furniture. "I guess since you're carryin' my cub, you're acting a bit like a wolf mother."

"Figures," replies the wizard with a roll of his eyes. "Then again, I've been having all the other symptoms of pregnancy: nausea, cramps, food cravings, indigestion—why not this too?"

Harry groans as he reflects on all the discomforts he's had to endure over the last few months. The young auror doesn't regret the pregnancy, however he truly had no idea that this is what women went through just to bring children into the world(and he hasn't even gotten to the hardest part yet!). With another annoyed grumble, the wizard rubs his lower back to stave off some of the strain.

"Well, I like some of yer pregnancy symptoms," begins Fenrir, interrupting the angry muttering from his mate.

"Oh really?" Exactly which symptom do you prefer, my swollen ankles or the mood swings?"

The werewolf ignores the sarcasm, letting it roll off of him(in a rather annoying way, Harry decides).

"My personal favorite would be your insatiable sex drive, pup. Even I have a hard time keepin' up with your cravings. "

Harry blushes a bit at the statement. Turning to face the man completely, green eyes search Fenrir's face for any sign of deception. Finding nothing but the man's leering(but honest) stare, he sighs in defeat.

"Do I really _crave_ sex more?"

"You haven't noticed?" inquires Fenrir. The werewolf leaning back in his seat as he folds his hand behind his head. "You practically tackled me into bed the other night. Not that I'm complainin', mind you. I like it when you get all assertive and demandin'."

"Er, I guess I've never paid much attention to it."

As Harry lets his words drift off, his eyes shift to look appreciatively at his mate. Viridian eyes travel over the man's well-muscled body, stopping every once in a while to linger on the wizard's favorite physical features—namely the corded musculature and raw danger that Fenrir seems to constantly radiate. Harry can barely contain a groan as the man carelessly flexes his muscles in a full-body stretch. The Head Auror doesn't consider himself a vain person, however he can't stop the rush of desire that is now pulsing through his body at the display.

"Fenrir?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Do you have any plans?" begins the wizard. His own plans of cleaning their shared home long forgotten as he feels his face heat up.

"Nope. Not a one," Fenrir replies as his grin widens. "I'm all yours."

Harry walks towards the werewolf with a confidence that he normally doesn't possess when it comes to sexual matters. Maybe it is the surge of hormones that is now flowing through his body. Or maybe he has started to become more secure in his newfound attraction to men, specifically the man currently watching his every move. Regardless of any of this behavioral conjecture, Harry is completely certain that he _wants_ Fenrir, his overprotective, sarcastic, gruff, and surprisingly considerate mate— **right now**.

Using the arm of the couch to stabilize himself, the wizard straddles the man's waist and leans down to kiss him. Not expecting the sudden exchange, but not fighting it either, Fenrir meets his mate's enthusiasm with his own. A growl leaves the werewolf's throat as pale hands quickly unbutton the shirt covering his chest. Harry's fingers stroke along the man's warm skin as their kiss deepens, the wizard liking the feel of the chest hair that decorates the broad expanse. A moan escapes Harry's lips as the man's own hands slide down to squeeze the auror's ass encouragingly. When they part for air, with a bit of difficulty, Fenrir's licks over the kiss-bruised lips with a satisfied groan. The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk as he detects a particular flavor.

"You taste like chocolate, pup."

"Oh, I went into Hogsmeade the other day and bought a few chocolate frogs," comments Harry as his hands start removing the man's shirt from his shoulders. "I've been craving them all week."

"Careful, too many sweets aren't good for the cub."

"Tell that to your cub, Fenrir. Besides red meat, that's all he wants to eat."

"Well, after I fill _your_ craving, I'll fill his. There's still some boar in the storehouse I can make a decent stew out of."

"That sounds amazing," Harry replies, already salivating at the future meal. However, his attention refocuses on the task at hand when Fenrir entices him into another kiss.

The kiss is a deep one, yet slow as the two men leisurely explore each other's mouths. As the wizard and the werewolf continue their activities, the rest of the memories from that day in Hogsmeade begin to come back to Harry's mind.

"I also ran into Abigail that day," continues the wizard as he tosses the werewolf's shirt over his shoulder. "Did she tell you her findings?"

"Yeah, I got the gist of it from Derrick. It does help make sense of things a bit."

"I think she fancies you. Every time I mention you now, Abigail blushes like a tomato. It's adorable."

Fenrir grumbles in acknowledgement at the teasing, too far engulfed in removing Harry's t-shirt to truly care. He grins triumphantly when the wizard's pale chest is revealed along with two perky pink nipples and the swell of his growing child. Harry smiles down as he watches the wolf kiss down his sternum, his thumbs deliberately just brushing over the sensitive buds on his chest.

"S-should I be concerned?"

"I'm all yours, pup," growls out Fenrir, pleased with himself at the moan that interrupts Harry's question. "You know that."

A satisfied smile appears on the wizard's face as he sits half naked on top of his bare-chested werewolf. He slides his palms up and down the planes of Fenrir's torso, encouraging the low possessive growl that is reverberating through the man's chest. For the young auror, it is thrilling to know that the man he's currently straddling is so enamored with him. Yet, it is also simultaneously unnerving that he alone is the sole focus of such raw, primal lust.

"So there isn't anyone else that I should worry about?" asks Harry as he leans down and starts to kiss along the werewolf's jaw line.

"You defeated Voldemort, who the hell else would you have to worry about?"

For a moment, a look of complete seriousness appears on the face of "The Boy Who Lived".

"I just like to be prepared, Fenrir. I prefer to know exactly what I'm going up against."

Sensing the doubting tone that is threatening to taint his wizard's lust, Fenrir leans up to whisper into Harry's ear.

"In a minute, you're about to be up against a wall. Other than that, you don't have anythin' else to worry yer pretty head about."

Harry rolls his eyes good-naturedly before leaning in to continue their kiss. And true to his word, Fenrir gets up from the couch and wraps his mate's long legs around his hips, before pressing him up against the nearest-available wall. The wizard gasps as he is pinned to the unyielding surface, before the werewolf starts kissing the pale neck that is exposed to him. Sharp canines graze over the claim mark on the side of Harry's throat in a mock bite. As aggressive as Fenrir's actions are, the wizard smiles as the alpha makes sure to be gentle with his attentions. Teasing nips remain playful, yet no less searing, as they decorate Harry's skin. The werewolf slides his large hands to Harry's swollen stomach to softly caress the curve of their baby as their lips reunite in another deep kiss. Engulfed in their passions, both men are startled when a gruff voice suddenly sounds through their door.

"Yo Fenrir, you in there?!"

The werewolf grumbles in frustration, however he doesn't stop his ministrations. In fact, in a retaliation to the interruption, Fenrir intensifies them. His mouth returns to Harry's as he grinds himself against his mate, creating a pleasurable friction that makes both men pant. Loud, insistent knocking on the door is now heard as the couple continues their heavy makeout session, both Fenrir and Harry sharing the vain hope that their visitor will eventually give up.

Unfortunately, the person proves to be rather persistent and it is Harry that has to forcibly separate their lips. Taking a moment to catch his breath, the dazed wizard looks down into the piercing eyes of his mate—who still has him pinned against the wall.

"Go in the back," states Fenrir as he places Harry back on his feet. The werewolf has to visibly damper his arousal as he narrows his eyes in the direction of their guest. "Stay there until I tell you it's safe to come back out."

"Why?" asks the wizard, his eyebrow raised in confusion.

"If it's who I think it is, I don't want him anywhere near you."

"Who is it?"

"It's another werewolf," grumbles out the alpha, walking away to grab their discarded shirts. Harry's suspicious gaze follows Fenrir, the auror doesn't quite seem to be convinced of the posing "threat".

"You know him though, right?"

"Unfortunately."

"So, is he dangerous or something?"

At the question paired with Harry's tone of worry, Fenrir can't help but bark out a laugh. The action makes it a bit difficult for the large man to re-button his shirt.

"You're looking at the most dangerous werewolf there is, pup. I just don't like him much, is all."

Harry can't help but smile at the man's stroke to his own ego. Taking his t-shirt from Fenrir, he slips it back on over his own torso. The over-sized material practically hangs off the wizard, however it effectively hides the swell of Harry's belly.

"Well, I can assist you. I'm not helpless."

Fenrir looks down at the young auror with a raised eyebrow. Still, he can't help but think that the determined look in those deep green eyes shouldn't be as sexy as it is.

"Harry, I know yer not helpless. The entire Magical World knows that. But I ain't lettin' you put yourself and our cub in danger. Now that you're startin' to show, we're not takin' any chances. Go on, now."

At the gentle insistence instead of an order, the wizard sighs before retreating to their bedroom. The second that Harry leaves, the man then goes and opens door. His blue eyes narrow into a suspicious glare as they take in the other werewolf standing on the other side of the threshold. The man is tall, almost reaching Fenrir's own height, with dark blonde locks around his well-defined, yet younger features. A long scar runs along the side of face and down his throat before it disappears into his shirt. The new werewolf's amber eyes return the glare with amusement.

"Took you long enough to answer, Fenrir."

"What the fuck are you doin' here, Mason?"

The question is left unanswered as Mason sniffs the air. His brow furrows as a strange, yet intriguing scent seems to emanate from Fenrir—as well as from further inside the cottage. As the blonde alpha tries to stare around Fenrir's body, the other wolf blocks his view. Narrowing his eyes, Mason returns his gaze to the man currently scowling at him in barely concealed irritation.

"So whose scent is all over you?"

"None of your damn business. Now answer my question— _What the fuck are you doin' here?_ "

"Well, I heard you found yourself a mate," Mason replies, an annoyed sigh leaving his lips. "Can't blame me for bein' a bit curious."

"Like hell I can't. A letter could've satisfied your curiosity just fine. I don't need your mangy scent stinkin' up the place."

"Well, I'm here now. Are you going to let me in or what?"

"Still haven't given me a good reason why I should."

"C'mon Fenrir. You can either stop bein' an arse for five seconds and let me in or I'll just wait out here until I annoy the shit out of you and you do it anyway."

"Yer already annoyin' me, Mason. Don't see how you could get much worse."

"You _really_ wanna test that?"

Rolling his eyes, Fenrir steps to the side, a wordless gesture that the slightly shorter wolf can enter the cottage. Taking the invitation, or at least what passes for one, Mason crosses the threshold with an amused chuckle.

"It really hurts that my own big brother doesn't want to see me."

"Just because we were raised together, don't make us blood related," clarifies Fenrir, closing the door. "I haven't seen you since the pack disbanded once Voldemort first took over. If memory serves, you were runnin' off with your tail between your legs and you didn't stop until you got all the way to Canada."

"I left in order to start a new pack far away from all the fuckin' arrogant wizards here. Unlike one of us, I refused to get wrapped up in their thrice-damned war."

The excuse receives a disbelieving scoff from Fenrir as he crosses his arms. The older wolf getting ready to make the same argument that he makes every time he and his "brother" have this conversation.

"It would've only been a matter of time before Voldemort found you all. I just chose to face the threat head on instead of run from it. If nothin' else, the bastard was relentless."

Thinking back on the snake-like man, an anger settles over the werewolf that he has never felt before. Usually, Fenrir feels no more than passing indifference whenever his thoughts drift to the Dark Lord, but now he feels a simmering rage. Hell, to be perfectly honest, part of the werewolf wants to find a way to resurrect the vile wizard just to indulge in the delight and satisfaction of ripping him to bloody shreds.

Fenrir isn't oblivious, he realizes that this change in opinion has to do with the identity of his new mate.

"So, where is she?" asks Mason, bringing the older werewolf back to the conversation.

"Who?"

"Your mate. I want to pay my proper respects and offer my condolences."

"What makes you think I'd let you anywhere near my mate?" Fenrir retorts, the man absently wondering how long he can keep Harry away from his "little brother".

"There's a scent all over this place that's not your usual stench, Fenrir. Smells nice actually, even with the overwhelmin' stink of wizard magic coverin' this Ministry-owned house."

"Fenrir, is everything alright out here?"

The grey-streaked alpha turns around to see Harry coming out from the back of the house—the werewolf actually surprised that Harry hadn't come out sooner. Fenrir notices that his pregnant mate has changed into a thick, baggy sweater that manages to conceal the small bump of their cub. The green-eyed wizard warily approaches the two werewolves with a raised eyebrow, Harry's left forearm tensing just a bit. If Fenrir had to bet, he would say that the powerful auror has his wand concealed there.

"Why the hell do you have Harry Potter in your house?" asks the blonde alpha, the man's eyes going immediately to the tell-tale scar on the wizard's brow.

"He's here because I want him here, Mason. Can't say the same for you though."

Looking from his mate to the stranger, Harry has an expectant look on his face. He waits patiently for Fenrir to make introductions, despite the obvious tension between the two werewolves. With an inward grumble, the man eventually speaks up.

"Harry, this annoyin' sonovabitch is Mason Greyback. He's head alpha of the packs in North America."

"Hello Mason," Harry greets, ignoring his mate's gruff tone. "Wait, _Greyback_? You two have the same last name?"

"Yeah, that 'arse' and I are brothers," explains Mason.

A look of complete shock crosses the wizard's face at this revelation. He looks from Fenrir to Mason, trying to find any similarities in face structure. Even though they are not blood-related, both alpha wolves possess a commanding presence and have a similar intensity to their gazes. Where Fenrir is taller and broad framed, Mason is leaner and has almost a feline quality to his movements. However, looking at either man, Harry can tell that both Greybacks are predators in their prime.

Once the new information has fully sunk in, green eyes focus completely on the larger werewolf.

"You never told me you had a brother, Fenrir."

"I don't. We were just raised together by the wolf that turned us."

"I see," replies Harry, his voice devoid of it's earlier pleasantness. "Mason, let me get you something to drink as you two finish catching up."

Not waiting for a response, the wizard briskly leaves the room without another word. Both werewolves watch the hasty departure, yet Mason's gaze lingers a bit longer than necessary on Harry's retreating form. A warning growl escapes Fenrir's throat as he notices the hint of arousal that emanates from his "brother". The alpha's sharp blue eyes narrow dangerously as it literally takes every ounce of willpower in his body to not attack the wolf blatantly ogling his pregnant mate.

"What's got you all bent out of shape?" Mason asks as he finally notices the downright malevolent glare trained on him.

"I don't like you lookin' at him like that."

"Just appreciatin' the view. Who knew Harry Potter had a nice ass? It's a pity not all wizards look like that, it might make their whole lot a bit more tolerable," comments Mason with a leering grin. "So, back to business then. Where's this mate of yours? You hidin' her from me?"

"My mate is _male_ , dumbass. And I don't have to hide him from anyone, least of all you."

Leaving his brother to figure it out for himself, Fenrir leaves the room and follows after Harry into the kitchen. The very moment he enters the room he is met with a glare from emerald eyes. Harry simply stares at him with his arms crossed over his chest. His relaxed body language completely discordant with the look on his face.

"What?" questions Fenrir, honestly confused by the wizard's mood.

"Were you ever going to mention that you had a brother?"

"You never asked."

"And I also assume," continues Harry, not bothering to acknowledge the rather weak excuse. "That it's safe to say that he has no idea that we are mated or that I'm pregnant with your child?"

"Why would he?"

At the man's honest(yet infuriating) response, the Head Auror's glare intensifies. Fenrir has to admit that the unamused stare is rather intimidating, even as it comes from the alluring green eyes of his mate. Harry then takes a deep breath before stepping closer to the man.

"Ron barely speaks to me, but I told him and Hermione," the wizard begins, his voice now coming out in a harsh whisper. "I went to their house and told my two best friends in the entire world that the two of us were mated and that we're expecting a baby. Do you have any idea how awkward that was?"

Fenrir can already tell that this is going to be the start of a rather spectacular argument. He doesn't need his werewolf instincts to detect that. So, like most conflicts in his life, Fenrir decides to face it head on. He squares his shoulders and opens his mouth to speak.

"Harry—"

"Of course you don't know! Because you, _The Infamous Fenrir Greyback_ , couldn't even manage to write a letter to your brother—that you never even bothered to mention ever—in all this time!"

"Potter, if you'd let me, I'd let the entire world know that you're mine!" the werewolf growls out. His sensibility out of the window as Fenrir airs out his own grievances. "You're the one that insists on using spells to cover up my mark and hide that you are carrying our cub."

At the remark, Harry's hard glare is replaced with the widened eyes of honest surprise. A moment passes between the wizard and the werewolf, nothing is said as they simply stare at each other. Reaching a hand out to Fenrir's arm, Harry's face suddenly softens into an understanding smile. The werewolf is clearly unnerved by the complete mood swing, but he leans into the touch anyway(It's not as if it's Harry's first).

"Fenrir, we both agreed that the best way to keep our privacy and keep our child safe is for me to use these concealment spells in public. I don't like doing it either, but I also don't want our personal life being invaded by the entire Wizarding World. We also agreed that it was perfectly fine to tell our family and friends that we are together."

Realizing that he is still in the wrong, Fenrir runs a hand through his grey-streaked hair. Fuck all if he knew how to do all this relationship and sharing feelings bullshit. Still, something about Harry Potter encourages him to try. Probably the way the wizard still expects him to be better when most other wizards just assume the worst—it's a nice change of pace from the usual low standard most wizards set for him.

"Werewolves are different than wizards and muggles," Fenrir begins, honesty clear in his tone. "Mason and I, especially. We don't really meet up for holidays and share our lives like that. Hell, the only reason our sire even raised us together was because he wanted us to run different sects of the pack. There's good reason why my 'brother' and I like havin' the entire Atlantic Ocean between us."

Harry looks up at his mate, studying the man's face. With a pleased expression, the wizard moves closer to the werewolf. Strong arms automatically wrap around Harry and bring him against a firm chest. Hearing Fenrir take a deep inhale of his scent, the auror smiles.

"Was that so hard?"

Fenrir grumbles, making Harry chuckle.

"Alright, I forgive you. Your brother is here now, so what do you want to do?"

At the question, Fenrir stares down at his mate. If he's honest with himself there's only one thing that the alpha wants to do—besides restarting what Mason interrupted earlier. The werewolf takes the wizard's hand and walks them both back out to the main room of the cottage. When they stop, right before Mason, Fenrir wraps his arm firmly around Harry's waist. His large palm settles right on top of their growing child.

"Mason, Harry Potter is my mate and he's carrying my cub. If you don't like it, fuck off."

For a good minute after that announcement, there is silence between all three of them. Fenrir is his normal, confident self as Mason stares at Harry(specifically the area of his concealed belly) in open disbelief. The wizard is surprised himself by his mate's sudden announcement, but he is focused more on the oncoming reaction of the blonde werewolf.

Harry is not left waiting long.

"You're mated to a wizard? No, not just any wizard, _you're fuckin' mated to Harry Potter!_ " the man finally exclaims, too shocked to acknowledge the growing anger rolling off his brother. "For fuck's sake, you haven't even turned him!"

"What I do with my mate is my business," states Fenrir, his muscles tensing in annoyance from the other alpha wolf in the room questioning his choice in mate. "Besides, the pup's fine just the way he is."

"Says the wolf that used to be some dark wizard's lapdog. What, now that he's gone you needed a new master? Decided on one that you could fuck as well as grovel to this time?"

As the words leave his brother's mouth they ignite every dominant instinct within Fenrir. Mason may be considered his brother by werewolf standards, but at the moment he is just a challenger to Fenrir's authority as well as a possible threat to his mate and unborn cub. A deep, guttural growl leaves his throat as he narrows his eyes.

"Would you like another scar to match last one I gave you?" growls out Fenrir, indicating the large scar already marring his brother's face. "Cuz I'd be more than happy to make it a pair if you don't shut the fuck up."

"I'd like to see you try, you wizard-lovin' sonuvabitch!"

As he speaks, Fenrir positions Harry behind him, silently herding him back towards the safety of the kitchen. The werewolf makes sure that his pregnant mate is safely out of harm's way as he sizes up the lean alpha.

"Don't tempt me, Mason. I can't promise that I'll remember to hold back if I fight you right now."

One moment the two werewolves are snarling at each other, the next moment they are locked in an all-out fight. Rolling about on the floor, the two grown men scratch, bite, and punch each other with animalistic ferocity. Harry stares on in complete shock at the sudden turn of events. The wizard finds himself pleased that his mate is defending him and their unborn child, not to mention that the rather physical display of his werewolf's prowess has not gone unnoticed. However, when the Greyback brothers knock over a lamp, the resulting crash snaps Harry back to his senses.

"Fenrir! Mason!" the young auror shouts, careful not to get too close to the brawling brothers. "Would you two stop, this is ridiculous!"

His cries fall on deaf ears as Fenrir is too preoccupied with body slamming his brother to the ground to hear Harry. The force of the impact manages to splinter the wood floor that Harry had spent the better part of the day scrubbing by hand. Annoyance now creeps onto the wizard's face as another lamp is lost to their battle. Whipping out his wand, the Head Auror sends out a spell that he barely has to focus his magic to cast.

"Stupefy!"

At the command, the two werewolves are frozen in their positions wrestling on the floor. The spell doesn't have the full effect on the lycanthropes, but it does stop the fighting. Sweat is pouring off both men as the wounds they've inflicted on each other bleed steadily. Shocked by the high-level magic fueling the basic spell, the two dominant wolves look up at Harry in awe.

"Now that I have your attention," starts the wizard, taking a few steps towards the partially-paralyzed men. "Let me take this opportunity to explain some things to _both of you_."

Staring down at the two helpless werewolves, Harry adjusts his black-rimmed glasses before clearing his throat.

"Fenrir, while I normally find your impulsive behavior rather endearing, tearing up the house while brawling with your brother isn't exactly a habit I'd like you to pass to our child. You are an adult so if you have a disagreement, use your words. And Mason, you may not approve of me being a wizard, however I don't approve of you being a self-righteous git. Now in about five months, I'm going to make Fenrir a father and you, Mason are going to be an uncle. So, if you have any intention of being in our child's life in any way, you're going to have to get over whatever issue you've got with Fenrir and me. Got it?"

The werewolves are released from their holds with a flourish of the auror's wand.

"Nod if you both understand."

Obediently, both men nod at Harry's question as they catch their breaths.

"Excellent. Now that everything is settled, the two of you can finish catching up with each other as you clean the mess you just made. I trust you both can handle it without me having to babysit the two of you. If you need me, I'll be in bed."

With a flick of his wrist, Harry returns his wand to its hidden holster and turns to return to their bedroom. The two brothers stare after him before a grin appears on Mason's face.

"I'm starting to see how he was able to defeat Voldemort."

"Yeah, the pup's got a real feisty side to him."

"Still think you're daft for matin' a wizard though."

"If I cared about what you think Mason, that might've meant somethin'," grumbles out Fenrir as he stands up. "Now shut your trap and clean this mess up."

"Why do I have to clean it up?!"

"Because, before we were interrupted, we both know that I was winnin'," tosses Fenrir over his shoulder as he heads after Harry. "And now, I'm gonna go finish what I was doin' before you showed up. If you know what's good for you, you won't disturb us this time."

 

* * *

 

A few nights later, at the countryside home of Ronald and Hermione Weasley, Harry is sitting in the kitchen helping Hermione as she prepares dessert. The witch is slicing a treacle tart as Harry arranges them on a platter and tops each slice with fresh whipped cream. Ron is present as well, however he isn't exactly helping. The lanky red-head is outright refusing to leave the room to speak with their lycan guests—well, one in particular to be perfectly honest.

As a gesture to clear the air, Hermione had invited Harry and Fenrir(along with Derrick, Scarlett, and Mason) to their house for a quiet dinner party. So far, the dinner had been filled with a low-simmering tension and punctuated with awkward silences. Any worthwhile conversation had been between Harry, Hermione, and Scarlett while the others commented occasionally. Then again, it didn't help that Ron had spent the entire evening glaring at Fenrir, who in turn spent most of the night touching Harry above and underneath the table. The alpha wolf seemed to make a game out of how far he could piss Ron off before the youngest Weasley erupted.

"I can't believe that you've brought not one, but four werewolves into my house, Harry."

" _Our_ house, Ron," points out the witch as she fetches some forks from the drawer beside her. "And I invited them. So, if you insist on having someone to blame, then blame me."

"'Mione, I'm trying to make a point here."

"Then make it, Ron," Harry cuts in as he folds his arms across his chest. "All this sounds like to me is that you don't want to meet werewolves. Fenrir isn't the same man he was during the war and this is the first time you've even met Scarlett, Derrick, and Mason. You could actually try to get to know them instead of assuming that they are going to rip your throat out the first chance that they get. Werewolves aren't any different than the rest of us—some are good and some are bad. Look at Remus, he was a perfect gentleman most of the time."

"Well said Harry," Hermione comments as she wipes off her hands. "And even if you don't agree, Ronald, they are guests in our home and shall be treated as such. What would your mother say if she heard that you were being so inhospitable?"

Ron turns to his two best friends with a look of complete shock. Not knowing what else to do, he throws his hands up in defeat.

"You two are completely mad, that's what she'd say. Harry is mated and pregnant with the child of Fenrir Greyback, the most notorious werewolf in the world. The man that worked for Voldemort and turned children for Merlin's sake! He turned Remus and more importantly scarred Bill, my older brother! My own flesh and blood! And this very same man is sitting in our living room with his brother and two underlings waiting for us to bring out dessert. And I'm the only one of us upset about this situation?! Something is definitely wrong with this picture."

Taking a deep breath, Harry uses the opportunity to get his thoughts together. Ron has every reason to be distrustful of Fenrir, the wizard can't fault him for that. Up until about six months ago, Harry might have had a very similar reaction. The infamous werewolf had done quite a fantastic job making a name for himself as utterly ruthless and terrifying. However, getting to know his mate and understand what drives him, Harry can't find it within himself to blindly fault Fenrir either.

"Ron, I understand what you are feeling, really I do. However, you can't judge someone based on the person they were during a war. I can't exactly say I did things that I'm particularly proud of back then," starts Harry, his gaze lowered as he finds the right words. "But Fenrir isn't some bloodthirsty, mindless creature or some convenient villain to blame. He is a man that had to make difficult decisions in order to survive as well as protect his pack. Fenrir has always been completely honest with me, so I know exactly what he's done. But now, I also know why. Now I'm not condoning the crimes he's committed, however I'm not condemning him for his past either. All of us in the Magical world are trying to restart our lives after Voldemort, that includes the people that fought against us too."

"But, he's done evil thin—"

"And so has the Ministry of Magic. So did Dumbledore. Does that mean that we judge people based solely on their pasts?"

At that point, both Ron(as well as Hermione) remain silent. Harry shares a look with them, all three remembering all that they've learned about the Ministry of Magic they had been taught to inherently trust as well as their late headmaster. Growing up in the middle of a Wizarding War has irreparably changed their perception of good and evil, the golden trio is now almost painfully aware of how subjective "wrong deeds" can be.

"I didn't see it at first myself, Ron, but Fenrir is a good man, " Harry continues, his hand settling on the curve of his pregnant belly. "The way he puts the safety and well being of his packs before all else is nothing short of noble. If you only knew the extent of the sacrifices he's made for them and the unwavering loyalty that every one of Fenrir's pack members shows him, you wouldn't be so quick to judge him, Ron. Fenrir Greyback may not be the nicest bloke around but he isn't pure evil either, he is nothing like Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange. He simply picked the side of the war that he thought would best benefit his packs, and I think we all know that side wasn't the Ministry. Say what you will, but Voldemort knew that most wizards would always be distrustful of werewolves and disregard them as nothing more than mindless beasts. Tom was many things, but not a fool. He knew the raw strength and power of werewolves that the Ministry had overlooked. So, he took the opportunity and aligned himself with Fenrir. As alpha of most of Europe's werewolf population, he is a efficient leader—I mean, look how much they have helped the Auror Department in the last few years. Imagine what we could have achieved if the Ministry had initially treated werewolves like people instead of ostracizing them."

For a moment, both Hermione and Ron simply stare at Harry. It isn't often that Harry brought the war or Voldemort into everyday conversation, so they are a bit taken aback. However, what makes them think is the perspective that Harry is presenting them. One of the things that makes Harry such an excellent auror is that he doesn't simply perceive the world in black and white. Through his own experiences, as well as those of the people that he's met in his life, Harry understands that even the best people can find themselves doing horrible things. It's the unfortunate way of the world at times. However, their famous friend also believes that people deserve a chance to prove that they can change when given the opportunity. It is that deeply-rooted optimism he possesses, even after growing up in a cupboard underneath the stairs of his horrid relatives, even after losing so many loved ones and even still after facing the greatest dark wizard ever known, that makes Harry so amazing.

"Ron, if Harry says there's nothing to worry about, then I'm likely to believe him," begins Hermione with a smile on her face as she picks up the tray of dessert. " Besides, Fenrir does seem sincere in his feelings for Harry in his own less-conventional way. After all, the two of them have been living together for the last few months now and Harry is perfectly fine."

The Head Auror goes to stand before his red-head best friend and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Ron doesn't move away from the affectionate gesture, yet the scowl is still stubbornly on his face. Harry grins at the predictable behavior.

"All I'm asking is that you at least go out and get to know them, Ron. I'm not asking you to forgive everything in the past, but can you at least be civil and open to move forward?"

At the expectant looks from both his wife and best friend, a resigning sigh leaves Ron's mouth.

"I get what you're saying Harry. And it sounds all well and good and everything, but this is still quite a bit to get used too."

"I understand. If you can't go back out there tonight not for me, than do it for your future niece or nephew's sake. How are they going to play with their Uncle Ron if he can't even be in the same room as their father?"

Harry looks at his friend while he rubs a hand over the growing bump of his baby, waiting for the full effect of his question to sink in. The underhanded tactic seems to do the job of clearing the tension in the room as a grin threatens to break across the redhead's face.

"Oh, come on Harry!" whines Ron, already caving in to Harry's request. "You can't use your unborn baby to get what you want. It's not fair!"

"Of course I can. I use it on Fenrir, and I can use it on you. Don't make me pull out the sonogram photograph. Now, let's go."

With a sigh and a mumble under his breath, Ron follows a smirking Harry and Hermione out of the kitchen. Once the trio enter the living room, the red-headed wizard straightens up as he sees the four werewolves on various pieces of his living room furniture. Scarlett and Derrick are sitting side by side on the loveseat as Mason is leaning against a wall. Fenrir has claimed a large armchair, his posture suggesting his continuing annoyance at his brother's presence. Harry makes his way over to the displeased alpha and sits himself on the armrest. Instantaneously, the alpha wolf's mood drastically improves as he wraps an arm around the wizard's waist. It isn't long before Harry feels a warm palm rubbing circles over their growing child. The other occupants in the room watch the display with varying looks of fascination.

"So, you have a lovely home, Hermione," observes Scarlett, drawing attention away from Harry and Fenrir.

"Thank you. Ron and I built it a few years ago."

"With magic or with your actual hands?"

"Mason," warns Harry. His tone instantly shutting up the blonde werewolf as Fenrir grins beside him. "Be nice."

"Actually, yes we did use magic to build this house," states Ron, sitting beside Hermione on the larger couch in the room as he levels a glare at Mason. "We are wizards. We use magic, big surprise."

"Ronald," begins Hermione with her own warning tone as she begins passing out plates. "Don't say anything you'll regret."

"I just think that we should get to the issue here. And honestly, I don't think Harry and Fenrir are fully prepared for all the problems they're going to face being married, or mated , or whatever."

Once the words leaves Ron's lips, the group tenses. The wizard and werewolf in question share a look, the two both ready to largely ignore the heated debate that is about to ensue. As if to prove that, Harry makes himself fully comfortable in his mate's lap. Fenrir welcomes it as he noses along the exposed patch of skin that peeks out from the dark-haired auror's jumper.

"Fenrir, stop." Harry whispers, yet makes no move to stop the stimulating gesture. The rasp of the man's beard against his skin feels rather good actually. "We should be paying at least some attention. The conversation is about us, after all."

"Let 'em talk it out, Potter. Nothing we say is gonna matter right now. This is between them, not us. We're settled just fine."

Harry is surprised by the rather convincing rationale of that statement. However, he is still drawn back into the conversation(and away from the rather-delicious looking slice of Treacle tart that Hermione offers him) by another surprising statement.

"Never thought I'd ever say this, but I agree with the wizard," begins Mason. "These two don't know what's headed their way."

"Ron does have a point," Derrick chimes in. "Fenrir and Harry haven't been together very long, they're still in their honeymoon stage. Marriage and a Mate Bond are hard enough as it is without adding more complications on top of it."

"I don't think that there's anything wrong with Harry and Fenrir's relationship," starts in Scarlett. Her eyes stare at her mate pointedly as she continues. "Frankly, I don't recall you being this level-headed and rational when we first met, Derrick. Our relationship isn't all that different from theirs. If you had thought things through so logically, would you have still pursued me?"

Realizing the fight that this could potentially cause, the beta werewolf quickly answers his mate's question.

"Of course, Scarlett. But you and I aren't Harry Potter, _Head Auror and Savior of the Wizarding World_ , and Fenrir Greyback, _Infamous Alpha Werewolf and Lord of the Lycans_."

"Still, it does have a romantic quality to it when you think about it," comments Hermione after finishing off the sweet, buttery slice of pie on her plate.

"Hermione! "

"Well, this is Harry's life," continues the witch, ignoring her husband's outburst. "He's perfectly capable of deciding how to go about it. I'm not going to let everyone else's hard-headedness and self-righteous idiocy get in the way of seeing my friend's baby. I can't wait to be an aunt. That reminds me, Harry, I've collected some books that I think will be helpful with your unique pregnancy. It wasn't easy mind you, there aren't many thorough reference books on werewolf pregnancies and child-rearing. I'll have them sent to you in a couple days."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it, Hermione," Harry replies as he too finishes off the last of his treacle tart.

"Look Harry, you know that I always have your back. I'm just saying that this situation isn't exactly an easy one to deal with. I mean, forgetting the fact that you're with Fenrir, you're still pregnant. I mean, how do you plan to explain the baby to everybody?"

At Ron's question, everyone turns their attention back to the couple that is the focus of the rather heated debate.

"Fenrir and I have decided that we will announce everything—me being pregnant and the two of us being mated—after the baby is born," reveals Harry. "We aren't going to hide the fact that we are both the parents and we don't want to hide our relationship any longer than we already have."

"Is that a good idea, Harry?" states Hermione, the practical witch concerned that they might not be thinking clearly. "I mean, this will be a huge shock to well, just about everyone."

"We know. But, it'll be better this way. It will be on our terms and we can take precautions to protect ourselves and our baby. Besides, it's not as if it's illegal for us to be together. The Ministry has recognised same-sex partnerships as well as relationships between magical creatures and wizards for ages. It's not as if they can take me and the baby away from Fenrir against our will."

Harry's comment makes Fenrir think back to the conversation he shared with Kingsley Shacklebolt the other day. Unknown to his mate, the werewolf is all too aware that the Ministry could very well separate them with a ridiculous charge of child endangerment or some other such nonsense. After all, there are still plenty of witches and wizards that hold prejudices against lycanthropes, and even more who are just chomping at the bit for any excuse to lock up the notorious Fenrir Greyback for good.

"So, Harry, Fenrir, how do you two plan to raise the baby?" asks Scarlett, bringing her alpha back into the conversation.

"We haven't really discussed it that much. Once the cub's actually here, we'll decided how he'll be raised."

"Well, obviously, the cub needs to be raised around werewolves," Mason adds.

Predictably, that statement does not go over well with Ron. The red-head glares at the blonde werewolf before he interjects.

"And what, the baby shouldn't be raised around wizards?"

"Considering what they've done to us why should we trust them to raise one of ours? The Ministry will probably want to start pouring Wolfsbane down the kid's throat the second he's weaned. He'll be safer with Fenrir's pack."

"So what? You're just going to take Harry and the baby away to live in a wolf pack and we'll never see either of them again?! That's not fair!"

"Fair?!," exclaims Mason, with a scoff. "What would a wizard know about being fair? If you all had it your way, werewolves would all be extinct by now! The cub needs to know the pride of being a werewolf before you wizards make him ashamed of it!"

" **Enough** ," interrupts Fenrir, his deep voice instantly cutting through Mason and Ron's argument. "As _entertainin'_ as it is to listen to you both bicker like schoolboys, this is our cub. Harry and I are the only ones that will decide how we raise him. Your opinions will be requested, if needed. End of Discussion. Now c'mon pup, it's late. We should be goin'."

Taking a look at the clock on the wall, Harry is surprised to see that it is well past ten. He had been so wrapped up in their conversation that the wizard had completely lost track of time. However, Harry is more interested in the odd mood that has settled over Fenrir. It's almost as if the werewolf's in a rush to leave, however the wizard can't tell if it's the location or the subject of conversation that the man is anxious to leave.

"He's right," Harry agrees, making note to question Fenrir once they are in a more private setting. "I have a long day at the Ministry tomorrow and an appointment at Saint Mungo's. I'm going to need all the sleep I can get."

The young auror stands up and walks over to exchange farewells with Ron and Hermione. Reading the peculiar mood emanating from the alpha wolf, the three werewolves quickly say their goodbyes before apparating to their own destinations. Once he is the only lycanthrope in the Weasley's home, Fenrir walks over to his mate.

"You ready to go, Harry?"

"Yes," replies the dark-haired wizard, not too surprised to already feel the man's arm already wrapping around him.

"Alright, g'night Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Appreciate the hospitality."

And with that, Fenrir activates the familiar portkey and transports him and Harry back to their snow-covered cottage just outside Hogsmeade. Both Ron and Hermione stare at the space the couple just occupied before sharing a mutual look. As a long term relationship themselves, it's rather easy to recognize certain telling signs between new ones.

 

* * *

 

Fenrir sits on the edge of their shared bed as he watches his mate get ready to sleep for the night. The wizard is a flurry of movement and clothing as he makes his way around the bedroom. It is rather amusing, though the werewolf knows better than to comment on it.

"I cannot believe things got so tense," replies Harry as he changes into his pajamas. "I mean, I expected some tension, but I was hoping we all could be adults about it."

"Well, it's to be expected. Wizards and werewolves aren't exactly known for gettin' along. There's a long history of distrust between us both. We should be glad that it didn't turn to blows."

"Still, I can't get over some of the things that Mason actually said," continues the wizard. Apparently in the time that has passed since returning from his friend's home, Harry has been replaying the conversation over continuously in his mind. "I mean, why on Earth would he say things like that?"

"Well, it's not like Mason said anything that didn't have a bit of truth behind it. Werewolves aren't exactly welcome around most wizards."

At the comment, Harry pauses, mid-buttoning his loose top. Viridian eyes narrow as they stare up at Fenrir incredulously.

"Fenrir, you don't honestly agree with what he said, do you?"

Despite the fact that he knows that it is a bad idea to truthfully answer this question, the werewolf replies anyway. He had been hoping that they could get through the night without having this conversation.

"Not everythin'. But I've met all types of wizards and there are certain things that they all have in common."

"Like what exactly? What do we all have in common?"

"For one, you all think that magic is the best thing in the world," Fenrir honestly answers as he walks out into the living room. "You all may not admit it, but you wizards practically worship it. Magic is supposed to be a tool, not a crutch."

Following the man, Harry has to almost jog to keep up with his wolf's large strides. The two find themselves in the kitchen, Harry walking in just in time to watches Fenrir pull out some pieces of dried meat. The werewolf watches as his mate's forest green eyes soften from their earlier glare.

"I'm a wizard, Fenrir," begins Harry. "My parents were wizards, practically everyone I know is a wizard, it's a part of who I am. Magic, is a part of who I am. Just like being a werewolf is part of who you are. Why wouldn't I pass that gift onto my child? Magic has saved my life more times and in more ways than I can even begin to count. "

"Tch! Saved you, eh?", begins the werewolf, a snarl distorting his features as he turns to face Harry. "Magic has saved you alright, from danger that you were only in because of your precious magic in the first damn place! You don't think I know how many times you were almost killed before you even reached eighteen?! My past isn't the only one that's plastered all over the fuckin' Daily Prophet!"

The protectiveness in the man's words shocks Harry for a moment. After all, that is far from the rebuttal he was expecting.

"Fenrir, that isn't the point—"

"It's exactly the point! Magic brings trouble. Makes people that have no strength of their own think that they do. The only real power you have is the power in your own body and your own mind, not in some silly stick! Do you have any idea how many weakling wizards and witches have attempted to fight me, a full grown werewolf, with only a wand to protect them?!"

At that insult, Harry's eyes narrow dangerously. Without a word he turns on his heel and storms out of the room.

"Where are you goin'?" asks Fenrir, following after the wizard he just thoroughly pissed off.

"You aren't my favorite person right now. Goodnight, Greyback. _Protego!_ "

The door to their bedroom slams shut in Fenrir's face, leaving the werewolf to stare at its wooden surface. Harry's cold tone(along with the impressive wandless activation of that shield charm) clearly demands to be left alone for the night.

Standing alone in the main room of their shared cottage, the normally imposing man is at a complete loss for words. The werewolf side of Fenrir Greyback is both frustrated by his wizard's anger and saddened by his mate's rejection. If it was a full moon, the alpha would most likely be sleeping against the door, in an attempt to get as close to the pregnant wizard as possible. However, tonight is not one of those nights. So this particular night, Fenrir is a man that has his own pride and decides to focus more on his own anger as he goes to create a makeshift bed on the couch. The man grumbles to himself as he tries to comfortably squeeze his body onto the furniture, alone and without the soothing warmth of his wizard in his arms.

Needless to say, sleep does not come easily that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Harry and Fenrir have their first real fight(Don't worry, they won't stay mad at each other for too long). The point of this chapter was to give a view of the evolution of Fenrir and Harry's relationship, so there's going to be some conflict along the way. *To those of you that have seen "Fools Rush In"(the film this fic is based upon), this entire fic came to life after watching Alex and Isabel's argument after the Cinco De Mayo party scene.
> 
> Next chapter, you'll be getting the details about the logistics of Harry's pregnancy as well as the sex of the baby!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I hope that you leave a comment(but it isn't a requirement)
> 
> Later days!


	7. Best of Both Worlds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's Chapter 7!(Not a whole lot of plot happens in this installment, but it hopefully will answer some lingering questions)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who leaves kudos and/or comments as well as those who are simply enjoying this story as a bit of escapism from the monotony of real life. 
> 
> Once again, this story is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine(I try my best to catch them all).

Steady rain falls down through the dense trees of the Forbidden Forest as Fenrir, and his group of wolves and wizards, make their way along. The staccato of water droplets on the thick foliage around them fills in the gaps between conversations and grumbled orders. Slick mud and fallen debris cover the forest floor, making the group's progress slow and awkward. It isn't optimal conditions for their work and tensions are already beginning to run high under the dismal weather. After an hour of this slow trudge, the werewolves and aurors unanimously agree to explore the complex(but mostly dry) system of caves that travel through the dark woods.

Fenrir and Derrick lead the way into the underground caverns, their eyes easily adjusting to the darkness. They keep themselves sharp for any unfriendly inhabitants. Once securing the area, they signal to the rest of their party to enter the cavern. The only illumination is the light provided by the wands of Abigail and her fellow aurors as Scarlett brings up the rear.

"So, how did things go with Harry last night?" asks Derrick, low enough that only his alpha can hear the question. "From the way things were going, I can assume you two had a bit of a discussion."

"Derrick, not now," Fenrir growls out. The large man crouching a bit to navigate the low ceiling of the cave. "I ain't in the mood."

"That bad, huh?"

A confirming grumble leaves the alpha's lips as the group makes their way into an open area of the cave. The narrow passageway has opened up to a large chamber allowing them all to fan out comfortably. From smell alone, the werewolves can tell that the area housed a small pack of their brethren not too long ago. However, the wizards eventually make the same deduction from clumps of shed fur and deep gouges in the rock walls that could only be made from razor sharp claws. There is a collective shiver from the aurors at the random pilings of animal bones that have been completely stripped of their flesh.

"We'll rest here for a few minutes before continuin' further," Fenrir barks out, as he surveys the area with narrowed eyes. Behind him, the aurors start to set up their cartography tools. "Scarlett and Derrick keep an eye on things here, I'm gonna check in with Espen's group. Hopefully, he and Mason aren't killin' each other."

"Wait, Fenrir, I'll join you."

Raising an eyebrow at Scarlett's words, Fenrir looks at her appraisingly. The woman's face suggests that she is eager to discuss something with him.

"Makes no difference to me," replies the alpha wolf as he turns, heading to the section with the rest of their group.

The two werewolves make their way along another dark passageway, the uneven ground slopes at odd intervals and slows Fenrir and his beta's progress. For a while, there is silence as the they travel. The steady rhythm of the rain is heard echoing through the empty and winding passageways of the immense cave. Fenrir makes a valiant effort to avoid the subject that Scarlett wishes to bring up.

"So, judging from your "pissed-off/I-didn't-get-any" face," begins the redhead knowingly, ignoring the warning growl from her alpha. "I'm assuming that you and Harry had a fight?"

"What **my** mate and I do is our business, Scarlett."

"Or not do, you mean."

Realizing that the woman beside him is not going to let up, Fenrir takes a deep breath.

"I wasn't even _allowed_ to sleep in my own fuckin' bed!" growls out the alpha as he takes a moment to stretch out his back. His muscles still sore from sleeping on the couch that Harry banished him to. "The pup even had the balls to slam a door in my face!"

Six months ago, the notorious werewolf would have outright laughed at the idea of being banned from his own sleeping quarters, by a wizard no less. It is downright unheard of. However, since mating and impregnating Harry Potter, nothing has been quite the same for Fenrir Greyback.

"Let me guess, you two were arguing over how to raise the baby, right?"

Not really expecting an answer to her question, Scarlett isn't surprised when all she hears is an acknowledging grumble from the large man ahead of her. The woman continues on, knowing that Fenrir is still listening.

"And then, you said something about wizards as a whole and ended up insulting Harry with your blunt honesty. He got mad, and then you got mad, and now the two of you aren't even talking to each other."

A moment passes before Fenrir completely stops in his tracks.

"Am I close?" goads Scarlett, the redhead waiting for Fenrir to confirm the statement.

The alpha werewolf closes his eyes just as a resigning sigh escapes his lips.

"Pretty much."

Surprised by the tiny hint of guilt in the deep baritone of her alpha's voice, Scarlett loses her teasing tone. Fenrir Greyback, the man that she has loyally served under for so long, has never been one to show any type of remorse before— _especially_ concerning his actions towards other people. Scarlett's large eyes gain a warmth to them as she approaches Fenrir.

"Well, I hate to say it Fenrir, but what did you expect? You're mated to a wizard not a werewolf. Did you really think he was going to side with you on that argument?"

Grumbling to himself, the werewolf returns his attention to the system of caves that they are exploring. Thick muscles are tight with Fenrir's restrained anger as he continues walking, mostly because he knows that the redhead following him is completely right in her assessment.

"Look, do you care about Harry?"

"Of course I fuckin' care! I mated him, didn't I?" snaps Fenrir.

"Well then, you have to accept the fact that Harry isn't a werewolf," Scarlett states honestly, folding her own well-muscled arms over her chest. "He's a wizard that grew up as a muggle, and neither group have ever been pro-werewolf. And honestly, if it weren't for Lupin's influence, Harry probably wouldn't have given you a chance in the first place. You can't expect him to understand everything that werewolves have been through. Hell, most wizards aren't even aware of the prejudice and outright hatred we still have to endure for just existing."

Fenrir stops in his tracks at that point. His anger momentarily shifts from the current situation to the continued hatred that he and his kind endure on a daily basis. He supposes that his long-held animosity towards the bureaucracy and hypocrisy of wizards in general  _may_ have tainted the argument with his pregnant one. Still, Fenrir is hesitant to admit that outloud.

"I ain't blamin' Harry for everythin' we go through. It just got to me how unaware of it he is, how naive he still is after everythin'. It's annoyingly admirable."

"Then tell him that instead of yelling your frustrations at him and sniping away at us. Harry won't understand if you don't give him an opportunity to. Your mate has a good head on his shoulders, he might surprise you," begins Scarlett. Her eyes soften a bit as she continues. "So, when you're all done here, go find Harry and spend the night making up with him. But until then, get your head back in the game. We need our alpha to focus right now, not occupied with thoughts of his mate."

"I **am** focused, Scarlett."

"Really?" asks the female werewolf, raising her eyebrow. "Then I'm sure you've already noticed that this particular caverns is starting to smell an awful lot like fresh forest troll, right?"

"Fuck," growls out Fenrir as he takes his own appraising sniff of the dank air around him. His own nose simply confirms what Scarlett has already stated. "You head back and help Derrick keep an eye on the wizards. The last thing we need is one of them findin' us sniffin' around their new home."

 

* * *

 

The halls of Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries are full of Mediwizards hurrying off to their respective wards to heal their patients. Since the fall of Voldemort, the wizarding hospital has had a drastic decrease of cases involving deadly curses, but the center still sees plenty of witches and wizards. Among them today, is the "Savior of the Wizarding World" himself—Harry James Potter.

Sitting in one of the private examination rooms that he had just flooed his way into, Harry anxiously awaits the arrival of his obstetrician to observe the progress of his pregnancy. The Head Auror's gaze flickers over to the lively fire burning away in the private fireplace, absently noticing that the flames have returned to their natural orange color. Six months along now, Harry is showing pretty well, even through the loose hospital gown he's currently wearing. The wizard's hand idly rubs his protruding belly as his deep-green eyes glance around the brightly lit room.

Reading one of the charts on the far wall, entranced by the moving people emblazoned on the charmed poster, Harry's attention is redirected when the door to the room is suddenly opened.

"Here you are, pup. Been lookin' all over this damn place for ya'."

"Fenrir?," begins Harry, unable to keep the soft grin off of his face. "What are you doing here?"

The wizard's lingering anger over their last exchange shifts to the back of his mind as the large werewolf closes the door behind him.  With a grin, Fenrir confidently walks over to Harry in a matter of strides. He wastes no time inhaling the soft scent of the pregnant wizard that has filled the small examination room. Harry notices that it seems to instantly soothe the irritability in Fenrir face. And as the intimidating man looks down at him with fondness in his sharp blue eyes, the wizard relaxes too.

"I wanted to be here, so I came. Besides, Derrick and Scarlett can handle bein' in charge for a few hours. Mason's there too, if things get really out of hand," Fenrir replies as he investigates the exam room. "You got a problem with me bein' here?"

"No, I don't. Quite the opposite in fact."

Harry is actually ecstatic to have his werewolf with him at this particular appointment, though he isn't sure if the sentiment would be welcome at the moment. The awkward elephant in the room, their argument from the previous night, has not been resolved. So, in an effort to continue the ceasefire, Harry says nothing else. Fenrir takes a different approach and chooses to focus on the wizard's physical cues instead of the (non)verbal ones. And upon closer inspection of Harry, the werewolf notices the dark circles underneath the wizard's emerald eyes(In his defense, Harry knew that his glasses had successfully hid the worst of it from everyone else). Fenrir's fingers reach out to gently raise the auror's chin as his intense gaze scans Harry's face.

"You look tired," comments the alpha after a few moments. It isn't a question. 

"Well, I am tired. I had that meeting with the Ministers early this morning and I didn't sleep particularly well last night."

As he speaks, Harry closes his eyes and leans into Fenrir's gentle touch. The man's hand threads through the wizard's thick, dark locks in an almost absent(yet no less distracting) manner. Harry is so occupied enjoying the safety of his mate's presence that he barely hears what escapes Fenrir's lips.

"I slept like shite on that damn couch."

There is an awkward silence between the couple as their previous argument is dropped between them. Shifting a bit on the examination table, the paper underneath him crinkling with every movement, Harry clears his throat. The young auror decides to begin with the truth and locks his gaze with the werewolf. .

"I'm really glad that you came today."

"Me too," replies Fenrir. Dropping his own gaze to Harry's swollen belly, he remembers what Scarlett told him back in the cave. "I didn't mean any of that rot I said to you yesterday."

Harry finds himself genuinely surprised by the apology. Fenrir Greyback isn't exactly one to offer such things. Yet, what makes the wizard truly smile is the honest sincerity behind the man's words.

"Thank you, Fenrir. However, I think you and I both know that you meant every word of what you said," answers Harry, his smile transforming into a smirk at the surprised look on the man's face. "We've been living together for the past four months and I've gotten to know you pretty well, Fenrir Greyback. You don't say anything that you don't mean."

Pausing for effect, Harry takes a deep breath before he continues.

"Besides, you were right. Magic, _in the wrong hands_ , is dangerous," the Head Auror starts. "Fenrir, you and I have both been overly exposed to the evils that can be done with magic. And, in retrospect, I do have a history of running headfirst into dangerous situations with nothing but my wand to protect me. I put a lot of faith into magic, I admit that. However, without it, I know for a fact that I wouldn't be the person that I am today."

As he speaks, Harry thinks back on his rather pitiful childhood. It was quite a lonely existence living in the cupboard under the stairs as well as under the torment of the Dursleys, his only remaining blood relatives. So, when Hagrid had first announced he was a wizard all those years ago, Harry had enthusiastically jumped at the opportunity and never looked back. Magic has always been a gift, a key to freedom, in Harry's mind. It gave him a sense of agency for the first time in his short life to have some power over his own existence. His infatuation with that gift, that power, is the one quality that Harry had shared with Tom Riddle. Ever aware of that similarity, the powerful auror has made a constant effort to understand and respect Magic as well as keep in touch with his Muggle roots.

Yet, Harry can admit that he's not perfect.

The young wizard thinks back on his history with magic—the danger, the betrayal, the grief, the wonder, the inner strength,  ~~the friends~~ , _no,_ **the family** he has been given and smiles. With a thought to his current situation, Harry's smile widens as he takes one of Fenrir's large hands and rests it over the baby now growing inside him.

"Despite everything that magic has taken away from us over the years, I think we should both focus on what it has given back. Magic may have taken my parents from me but in turn it gave me the ability to become a parent in a way I never before thought possible. I get to experience every moment of our baby."

The werewolf is made speechless when he suddenly feels the gentle shifting underneath his palm. The active movements of his unborn cub causes a warm smile to distort the infamous werewolf's rugged features. Fenrir is frozen in wonder as he moves his large palm to follow the baby. Watching this, Harry can't help but love how the simple movement always makes the gruff man practically melt.

"Our cub is gettin' stronger," replies Fenrir, the wolf seeming a bit unsure of how to respond to Harry's earlier statement. "He just kicked my hand."

"The baby always starts moving more when he hears your voice. I think he likes it."

Before Fenrir can properly comment on Harry's observation, the door of the private exam room opens once again. This time, a mediwitch clad in white healer's robes enters. The woman looks to be in her late thirties, but her positive and vibrant smile makes her face look younger. The mediwitch's olive-toned skin is complimented by the dark curly hair that falls to her shoulders. Settling her supplies on a nearby desk, the woman turns to face her patient.

"Ah, hello again, Mr. Potter," greets the witch, receiving a smile in return from the Head Auror before turning to the werewolf beside him. To her credit, she doesn't flinch or look the least bit surprised by Fenrir's presence. "And Mr. Greyback, I heard from Healer Smethwyck that you were in the building today. I'm Healer Merriweather, by the way. It's nice to formally meet you."

Fenrir acknowledges the woman with a grunt, earning a chastising look from his mate. He remains close to Harry as the witch unfurls a scroll containing the wizard's extensive medical history. Pulling out a quill from the folds of her robe, Healer Merriweather quickly charms it with her wand to record her examination.

"So, Harry why don't you lie back and we'll begin."

Taking the Mediwitch's direction, the young wizard shifts back on the padded examination table. He adjusts himself so that his body is centered and raises the hospital gown until his round belly is exposed. Harry then lies down and waits for the examination to begin, his fingers nervously fidgeting. However, he smiles as Fenrir pulls up a seat beside him and once again starts to run his fingers through dark, unruly hair. The wizard can't decide if the simple contact is more soothing for him or for Fenrir, either way his eyes drift shut at the reassuring touch.

Approaching the pregnant auror, the witch takes out her wand and murmurs a quick spell. The wand tip starts to glow a soft yellow as she uses it to draw a series of glowing symbols over the growing baby in Harry's belly.

"What're you drawin' on him?"

At the question, both the wizard and witch look over to the werewolf. The healer smiles as she finishes her work before turning to explain the ancient runes to the suspicious man watching her every move.

"This is just a simple alchemic circle, Mr. Greyback. Due to the sensitive nature of Harry's pregnancy, I've been using alternative magic as oppose to the spells we normally use here in the obstetrics ward. Harry has mentioned that you are a bit wary when it comes to traditional magic. Is this alright?"

"It's fine, as long as it doesn't hurt either of them," replies the werewolf, allowing the witch to continue her examination.

At the consideration, Fenrir simultaneously feels a wave of affection for his mate as well as a bit of guilt at the way he had been acting—a rare occurrence for the alpha wolf. Harry notices the expression, as brief as it is, and simply offers him a soft smile.

"It looks like everything is developing normally, as far as I can tell," comments Healer Merriweather, interrupting the silent conversation between the two men. "The womb that Harry's body has produced seems to be holding up well and properly nourishing the baby as well as providing the magic necessary to sustain itself."

"Wait, what exactly is goin' on inside the pup?"

The Mediwitch turns around with an understanding smile upon hearing the confusion in Fenrir's voice. She casts a spell on the adjacent wall. For a moment nothing happens, then the existing shadows begin to come to life and transform themselves into a convenient visual for Healer Merriweather's explanation.

"Well, this is mostly conjecture, but from what I've been told from Harry as well as what I've deduced from my own observations and research, this is what I think caused this remarkable pregnancy. The night you two conceived your baby, a merging of magical energy occurred. It's quite miraculous actually, after all there are only a few documented cases of male pregnancies in Wizarding History. However, I believe that I've finally isolated all the factors involved in this particular instance."

As she speaks a feature-less male figure(representing Harry) is formed by the shadows. In the figure's midsection, a white spark(representing Harry's magical core) appears.

"Now, all wizards and witches are born with a magical core," begins the woman, her tone indicated that this is only the start of her presentation. "The strength of each individual's magical core determines how powerful that wizard or witch will be. In Harry's case, and as you can see here, he has an extraordinarily strong one."

Turning her attention back to the couple to make sure that they are following her, the mediwitch then shifts her gaze to Fenrir.

"And in your case Mr. Greyback, you are not only an alpha werewolf, but what has been dubbed as a _Supreme Alpha_ in the texts I have been referencing. Your lycanthropy is more potent, you have a deeper connection with lunar magic than most werewolves," elaborates Healer Merriweather. "As we all know, werewolves, regardless of rank, are creatures of natural magic that are able to transform themselves. They are also one of the few magical creatures that create more of their kind by 'turning' other humans, similar to Vampirism. However, unlike other magical creatures, the aggressive genes associated with lycanthropy are spread through an exchange of bodily fluids and then stimulated by the supernatural properties of a full moon. Now, when an exchange of bodily fluids that includes lycanthropy occurs without a full moon, the dominant genes are still transferred but in a far-less aggressive state. These weaker genes are unable to spark the full genetic transformation of a human into a werewolf, as in the case of your acquaintance Bill Weasley. Do you both understand everything so far?"

At her pause, Healer Merriweather turns to see if the two men are following her explanation. Harry and Fenrir both seem to be a bit overwhelmed with this onslaught of information pouring out from the smiling healer. However, they both nod for her to continue with her informative presentation. On the wall, a new, larger shadow figure with a white spark(representing Fenrir) appears.

"Well, it seems that during your sexual intercourse, the introduction of Fenrir's extremely potent sperm sparked a completely unique reaction within Harry's body."

At this point, the two shadows touch. This results in the spark within the 'Harry' shadow figure growing bigger before changing color, from a glowing white to a soft blue.

"Now, normally, when werewolves have intercourse with wizards and muggles it doesn't have such profound effects outside traditional pregnancy and the rare occurrence of sexually-transmitted diseases. However Harry, due to your exposure to such powerful spells and curses at such a young age, the magical core within your body is very adaptable in addition to being incredibly strong. So, when confronted with such a pure strain of lycanthropy from a virile alpha werewolf, it reacted. Your magical core _created_ life, even though you are not biologically capable of carrying a child in the traditional fashion."

To end the presentation, a bubble of energy forms around the spark within the shadow figure's midsection. The smaller of the shadows now represents the six-month pregnant Harry Potter.

"So, would my body have done the same thing if I had slept with someone besides Fenrir?" asks Harry, ignoring the annoyed grumble from the werewolf beside him, as his eyes remain on the shadow representation of himself.

"Probably not. It takes a very high level of magic for wizards to become pregnant, from both male parents," the Mediwitch answers as the shadows return to their original forms. "In addition to that, the magical energies of both parents have to compliment each other. To be perfectly honest, Harry, I can't think of any other wizard that currently possesses your level of magic. However, as a _Supreme Alpha_ werewolf, Fenrir has an immense level of natural magic that is most likely on par with your own. It is also important to note that werewolves are famous for their virility and fertility, after all they are said to be the children of the moon goddess herself. Nine times out of ten, intercourse involving lycans results in pregnancy for the female involved. And in this case, there was a certain level of raw desire there as well."

" _Raw desire_?" repeats Harry, the wizard pointedly ignoring the snicker form Fenrir. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well yes, Harry, you were receptive to Fenrir on some level during your intercourse. Otherwise, your magic wouldn't have created the life that you now carry. And in the same respect, Mr. Greyback was drawn to you. It could have been simple scent indicators, a base reaction to your mutual compatibility, or he simply just found you physically attractive. Either way, it was enough for the lupine instincts deeply-instilled within Fenrir to ensure that the person his wolf perceived as a viable mate conceived a baby from your union."

At this bit of news, Healer Merriweather watches as a myriad of expression settles on both Harry and Fenrir's faces. Neither the wizard nor the werewolf seem particularly upset by the news, simply overwhelmed by the information and the sheer amount of detail the mediwitch has gleamed from their relationship.

"I'm going to give you two a minute to talk things over. I'll be back in a few moments."

Excusing herself, the woman slips out of the room. The door closes behind her with a soft click.

"That was err-interesting," begins Harry, interrupting the silence that has settled.

"Yeah, you could say that, alright. You sure this witch knows what she's doin'?"

"Yes," replies the wizard, with a chuckle. "She's worked with Healer Smethwyck and has a background in treating lycanthropy. Her field of expertise is actually in genetics and reproduction involving magical creatures."

The comment earns a scoff from Fenrir, however Harry continues.

"Apparently, she's even written quite a few groundbreaking books on werewolf anatomy and physiology. Hermione highly recommended her."

As Harry shifts a bit from his position on the table, piercing blue eyes watch as the wizard's hand idly rubs their growing child. Fenrir's thoughts start to drift back to the Mediwitch's explanation for their cub, and admittedly, the werewolf is surprised by the full power of his lycanthropy. In his own experience, Fenrir has only known the violent and practical sides of his wolf side, he never really took an interest in the reproductive aspects. A heavy sigh leaves the man's throat, instantly catching the auror's attention.

"Fenrir? What is it?"

"There's somethin' I need to ask you, pup."

"Alright, go ahead," consents Harry, focusing all his attention on whatever the man is about to ask him.

"I've spent most of my life defendin' my kind against wizard prejudices. And after our row last night, I need to know somethin', Harry. After everythin' that Healer just said, are you hopin' that the cub comes out like your godson, Teddy Lupin? With no werewolf traits at all?"

Harry's first reaction is disbelief at the man's question, especially since they had just fought over this issue the night before. It seems to the young wizard like a rather dangerous idea to stoke this fight once again. However, after turning his head, Harry is shocked to see a expression on Fenrir's face that is not challenging. An expression that simply wants the truth from his mate, nothing more and nothing less. 

"There is no particular way that I want our child to come out. I'm just hoping that the baby will be born healthy," begins Harry as he sits up with a bit of effort. "Honestly, I don't care if he's born with puppy ears and a tail. I already love this child so unconditionally. And contrary to what your brother seems to think, I will not let _anyone_ shove a potion, or their outdated and ignorant prejudices, down our child's throat."

Once the wizard has settled himself upright on the exam table, Harry firms his own expression.

"Now Fenrir, there's something I want to ask you. Are you going to be disappointed if our baby turns out to have no werewolf traits and grows up to be a wizard?"

At the inquiry turned back onto him, Fenrir immediately locks his gaze with Harry's. The expression on the alpha wolf's face is one of intense seriousness, yet it is not meant to be intimidating. Harry stares back, unsure of the reason for the staring contest he is now engaged in. Fenrir takes a breath, before a sly grin slowly makes it's way onto his face.

"Pup, what did I tell you that night I put my claim mark on yer pretty throat?"

Harry blushes as the full account of that night's activities come rushing back to him. The wizard feels the heat pool in his belly as he recalls every scintillating touch and nerve-wracking ministration that the werewolf bestowed over and over on his body that night. However, remembering the conversation _before_ the passionate lovemaking, Harry recites Fenrir's words.

"You said that you take care of what's yours."

"Well, are you and the cub mine?"

Looking directly into the soul-searing gaze of the man mere inches from him, Harry can't help but play into his mate's possessiveness.

"Yes, we are."

The immediate reply makes Fenrir grin in satisfaction.

"Then that means that both of you will always be taken care of," the werewolf states matter-of-factly. "That doesn't change just because yer both wizards."

Moving himself closer to the edge of the examination table, Harry is a bit thrown off by his added weight as he attempts to slide off the tall furniture. Noticing the struggle, Fenrir picks the wizard up underneath his arms and gently lowers him to the floor. The maneuver is done with annoyingly little effort, but Harry still feels a bit self-conscious over his steady weight gain.

"I'm not getting too heavy, am I?"

"Pup, you're not fat," offers the werewolf after an appreciative gaze along Harry's form. "You look good with a bit more weight on you. And you look _damn_ good heavy with my cub."

To accentuate his point, Fenrir cups the wizard's bottom in a playful squeeze—the soft flesh giving in easily to the man's palm. Harry's loose hospital gown serves as a barely-noticeable barrier as the werewolf pulls his shorter mate into his massive frame. Harry isn't a lanky teenager anymore, but he can't help but feel like it pressed against the firm muscles that make up Fenrir Greyback's imposing form. The wizard is more than content to stay in the secure embrace.

Harry catches the masculine scent that teases his nostrils as he is gently pressed against the werewolf. He buries his nose further into Fenrir's well-worn shirt as the wizard enjoys the aromatic notes that make up his mate's scent. Due to the paranormalcy of his pregnancy, Harry's sensitivity to smell has heightened a bit as a result of the werewolf DNA present within his body. Granted, most of the time it made the wizard sick, but at times like these it allowed him to appreciate Fenrir in new ways. Like at the moment, he can smell the sweat on the man's skin paired with the fresh, yet wild, scent that Harry instantly recognizes as the Forbidden Forest.

"I missed you last night, Fen," Harry admits after a few moments as he buries himself in the wolf's wide chest. His voice a bit slurred as the wizard is slowly intoxicated by the man's scent.

"Me too, pup."

Leaning down, Fenrir lowers his head to kiss Harry. The exchange starts out slow, a mere caressing of lips, before their desire starts to make itself known. Harry moans as a familiar hand slips underneath his thin hospital gown to travel along his spine. His hands clench onto Fenrir's broad shoulders, giving Harry the leverage he needs to change the angle of the kiss. Pheromones emanate from the pregnant wizard, enticing the alpha wolf to freshen his claim on his aroused mate. Harry slides his hands upward and into the thick hair on Fenrir's head, earning him a growl of approval. And just as their kiss deepens into something entirely inappropriate for a hospital examination room, Healer Merriweather returns. Her eyes widen at the sight that greets her. When the mediwitch loudly clears her throat, both Harry and Fenrir reluctantly stop their actions.

"Er-Sorry."

"No need to apologize, Mr. Potter," offers the witch with a knowing smile. "Pregnancy hormones usually make an expectant mother desire their partner more. I suppose it's nature's way of keeping the father interested despite all the mood swings and whatnot."

Laughing a bit at her own joke, the Mediwitch regains her composure and returns to the business at hand.

"Anyway, while I was gone I ran a few tests and everything is progressing well. Expect to continue going through the normal symptoms of pregnancy, despite the magical nature of your gestation. I can suggest some reading material to give you some reference for what to expect if you like."

"That would be great."

"I'll arrange that for you via Owl Post," confirms Healer Merriweather with a smile. She makes a few notes as she talks. "Now, during your final trimester, I want you to take it easy and continue taking your supplement potions. I know you are Head Auror, Mr. Potter, but I highly recommend that you do not do anything too stressful or labor intensive. That also includes using your magic. Try not to exhaust your magical core further by using too complex spells. The simple concealment charms you've been using to keep your pregnancy private shouldn't have a negative effect, but if you start to feel a bit drained remove them and get some rest. You've informed the Minister of your condition, correct?"

"Yes, and Kingsley has me on strict desk duty. Ron Weasley is handling any of my more intensive duties until after I've delivered the baby."

"Excellent. If anything happens, anything at all, please let me know. As we've discussed before, this is still an extremely high-risk pregnancy so we want to be extra careful."

"I'll make sure the pup takes it easy," assures Fenrir, earning a smile from the healer.

"Great. Then I hope to see both of you again in a month for your next appointment and we can start going over your delivery options. Did either of you have any further questions for me?"

"Er, I have one," Harry pipes up, attracting the attention of the witch and the werewolf. "Are we having a boy or a girl?"

At the question, Healer Merriweather's smile grows.

"It looks likes the two of you are going to have a healthy baby boy," answers the witch, smiling at Harry and Fenrir's expressions of wonder. "Congratulations you two!"

With that cheerful goodbye, the Mediwitch leaves the wizard and werewolf to themselves. The second that the door closes, Harry is surprised to find himself surrounded by Fenrir's thick arms. A large smile appears on the auror's face as he relaxes into the embrace.

"I can't believe that we're going to have a little boy," Harry begins, his eyes watering a bit.

"Did you want a girl?" asks the werewolf, as he settles his chin on top of Harry's unruly dark hair.

"It didn't really matter to me, how about you?"

"Well, I was hopin' for a boy," Fenrir admits. He starts to sniff along the curve of his mate's throat, nuzzling into the soft skin there. "I don't know about you, but I've got no clue how to raise a girl."

Harry laughs at the honest statement as he turns around in the man's arms. His bright green eyes look up at Fenrir as he smiles, the difference in their heights not so significant as they share this intimate moment..

"You do make a good point. She'd probably have us wrapped around her little finger before her first birthday."

"I wouldn't mind if our next cub is a girl, though. At least then, she'd have a big brother to look out for her."

At those words, Harry is rendered speechless. He never expected that Fenrir would not only want another cub, but had spent time thinking about it. A genuine smile appears on the wizard's face at the thought of finally building his own family. Not wanting to expose how touched he is by the simple statement, Harry slides his hands up to rest on the man's broad shoulders.

"Let's focus on this baby first, and then we can start planning his siblings, Fenrir."

Unbeknownst to Harry, the man's words were testing the waters to see if the wizard even wanted to carry more of their children. The positive response makes a victorious grin appear on Fenrir's face.

"Well, there's no harm in practicin', is there?"

Before the wizard can ask what his mate means, Harry yelps in surprise as their earlier kiss is suddenly restarted. A soft moan slips out of the wizard's lips as he melts into the heated exchange. And as he angles the man's mouth closer to deepen the kiss, Harry's fingers bury themselves into grey-streaked locks. It isn't until a good amount of time later, when Fenrir's hungry lips finally leave his mouth to focus some attention on the claiming mark decorating his throat, that Harry regains enough coherency to speak.

"F-fenrir, not here."

"Why not? You didn't seem to mind so much a few minutes ago."

"That was different," rationalizes the auror, as he forces himself to move out of Fenrir's reach. "Besides, I don't particularly want to have sex in an examination room that anyone could walk into."

"Then where would you like to go?"

Taking a moment to think, Harry smiles as an idea comes to him.

"I have a place in mind, but we have to stop at home first," states the pregnant wizard as he begins to change back into his clothing. "There are some supplies that we need."

"Kinky," comments Fenrir as he leans back on the exam table. His piercing blue gaze shamelessly watches his mate shed the hospital gown and expose his slim body.

"It's nothing like that you dirty old wolf," Harry chastises over his shoulder as he slips a large t-shirt over himself—his cheeks reddening despite his words. "And quit staring like you want to eat me or something, it's unnerving."

"Oh, but I _do_ want to eat you up, pup." teases the werewolf as he nears Harry, almost stalking the wizard as he finishes getting dressed. Harry swallows as the man makes a show of slowly swiping his tongue over his sharp teeth."Every _delectable_ morsel."

 

* * *

 

After the couple has left Saint Mungo's in quite a haste, and made a quick stop at their shared cottage outside of Hogsmeade, the two find themselves in the picturesque English countryside. There is no one around for miles as both men sit upon a worn blanket in an open meadow. The soft grasses sway back in forth in the slight breeze as the sun sits low in the sky. A warm orange glow is cast over Harry and Fenrir and the nature around them. At the moment, the werewolf is watching as Harry digs about in a small sack. Like Hermione's beaded handbag, it has been charmed to hold more than its size suggests.

"I know I put it in here," comments Harry as he looks further into it. His whole arm has now seemingly-disappeared inside the enchanted bag.

Watching this rather comic endeavor, a grin appears on Fenrir's face.

"What is it that you're looking for, pup?"

"It's supposed to be a surprise, so I can't just tell you. I just hope that it didn't br—Oh, here it is!"

With a victorious smile, Harry pulls out a magically-chilled glass bottle that is filled with a clear liquid. Seeing the bottle, Fenrir's gaze becomes curious.

"What is it that you've got there?"

"Well, I sort of asked Scarlett to do me a little favor a fews days ago. And because of our situation, I know that it's been awhile since you've been able to go to the Taiga and see your pack. So, I thought you'd appreciate a little taste of home."

Realizing what the bottle contains, the werewolf grins at Harry as he brings over the bottle and a single glass. The wizard had remembered the vodka that Fenrir mentioned the night they went to see the unicorn herd in the Forbidden Forest. And apparently, Harry had managed to convinced Scarlett to sneak him a bottle. The liquor is a handcrafted local recipe available only in the Russian Taiga. It isn't a fancy-brewed vodka, but its uniquely-bold taste paired with its smoothness easily makes it Fenrir's favorite. Simply having a small piece of something from his pack lands makes gratitude swell in Fenrir's chest.

"Pup, you didn't have to do this."

"No, but I wanted to," replies Harry as he opens the bottle and begins to fill the glass for the werewolf. "I mean, I know you miss your pack—even though you never complain about it. And it can't be easy having to deal with the Ministry of Magic on your back everyday as well as a pregnant mate with insane mood swings. And don't think I don't notice all the other little things you do for me and the baby. Your massages alone are nothing short of spectacular."

At the reasoning, an appreciative smile appears on the well-defined features of Fenrir Greyback.

"You're carryin' our cub, the least I could do is make sure that you're both comfortable."

"Well, it's appreciated. So drink up. You'll have to enjoy it for the both of us."

At the wizard's insistence, the werewolf takes a sip of the handcrafted liquor. Unlike an ale, every sip of this vodka is meant to be thoroughly savored. Fenrir lets the drink sit on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing the liquid, a satisfying burn following afterwards. Due to his lycanthropy, the werewolf doesn't get drunk unless he drinks an obscene amount of alcohol. Still, he has always enjoyed the taste of a good drink.

"I forgot how good this is," murmurs Fenrir as he takes another sip.

"Good, I'm glad you're enjoying it," begins Harry as he closes the bottle. Putting it aside, he takes a deep breath. "So, er-last night, after our disagreement, I also had a lot of time to think. I really don't want to keep fighting over the same issue, Fen. I want to offer you a compromise."

"Alright."

Watching the man enjoy the Russian vodka, Harry firms his voice.

"If you promise me that we can stay here in England, at least until after the baby is born," begins the auror, keeping his face neutral. "Then I promise that the baby and I will both return with you to Russia, to live with your pack, on a _trial_ basis."

For a moment, the alpha werewolf is in complete shock as he stares down at Harry. Intense blue eyes stare past trademark glasses and into the wizard's green ones, searching for the sincerity in his words. The werewolf is surprised to find it clearly reflected in Harry's expression and that this is not an empty gesture. Putting his glass down, Fenrir moves closer to the wizard. Harry is transfixed by the gaze trained on him, all he can do is watch as the well-muscled body moves closer and closer to him.

"You need to stop doin' all these nice things for me, pup," the werewolf replies, his voice now lowered to a husky growl. "Makes me want to do some _really_ nice things for you."

Gently nudging his mate so that he lies down on his back, Fenrir begins to carefully crawl over the pregnant wizard. His lips settle on the darkened flesh that indicate his irrefutable claim on Harry. With a rough lick to the sensitive spot, the man starts to bathe the curve of the young auror's throat with teasing kisses and nips of his teeth.

"R-remember, I said _try_ Fenrir," clarifies Harry as he moves his head away to bare more of his neck to the werewolf's attentions. "I do have a job in London. If things don't work out, we'll ah-just have to come up with another compromise."

"Fine with me," growls out the werewolf as his attention switches to the other side of his mate's throat. "I think you'll like living with the pack, though. Lots of fresh air and open space. No wizards interferin' with our lives."

Enjoying the focused attention that he's receiving, Harry slides his hands up along the thick arms effectively caging him. The slim fingers take their time to explore every inch of Fenrir's musculature, fascinated by his strength.

"But I'm a wizard, is your pack going to be okay with that?"

At the genuine concern in Harry's voice, Fenrir pulls back a bit. His expression is silent incredulity.

"You are the mate of their alpha, they don't have a choice in the matter. Besides, not all of my pack members are full werewolves, Harry. Some of 'em are wizards, squibs, and even muggles."

"Really?"

The look of wonder on the young auror's face makes Fenrir smirk as he leans back in.

"Can't help who you fall for, right?"

Harry smiles at the words and reaches his arms up to bring the man closer to him. In the warm grasses of the English countryside, the two men are finally able to reconnect without the threat of interruption. As the kiss continues, Harry's hands make their way down the werewolf's strong chest just before slipping underneath the fabric of his shirt. When the wizard's fingers start unbuckling Fenrir's fly, the werewolf breaks the kiss.

"Better stop that, pup, unless you want it right here."

"That's why we're out here, isn't it?" replies Harry as he restarts their kiss, a blush forming on his cheeks.

The wizard's response causes the werewolf to raise an eyebrow in question.

"I didn't think you were serious. Wouldn't take you for the type to like matin' outdoors, Potter."

"Well, I'm not really," begins Harry, before a grin makes its way onto his face. "But, how will I know for sure, if I don't try it?"

Not arguing with that, Fenrir leans down to once again kiss Harry. The irresistibly-soft lips seem to mold perfectly against the werewolf's who lets out a small groan at the contact. As they continue kissing, Harry doesn't notice that large hands have made their way underneath his shirt. Wide palms glide over the supple skin as they move upward, moving the fabric with them. A gasp escapes Harry's lips as the thick fingers begin to tease and pull at his peaked nipples.

Enjoying the soft whimpers escaping the wizard's lips, Fenrir breaks their kiss to completely remove the shirt covering Harry's torso. The werewolf pulls back a bit to gaze at the bare form of his mate. Tearing his gaze away from the lust-darkened eyes of Harry Potter, he lingers on the swell of their child growing in the wizard's belly.

Fenrir places a hand on top of the wizard's domed stomach. Feeling the cub, _their son_ , move underneath his palm, he shares a smile with Harry.

A grin quickly replaces his smile as Fenrir breaks eye contact and lowers his head. Placing soft kisses to the stretched skin covering Harry's navel and hips, his hands start to undo the drawstring holding up Harry's lounge pants.

"W-what're you doing?"

The Head Auror's question remains unanswered as his pants are slowly slid off his narrow hips. Suddenly Harry is arching off the ground as he feels Fenrir's tongue lavish attention to his rapidly-filling member.

"Fenr—ah!" exclaims the wizard as he buries his hands into the grey-streaked hair of his mate, all the while his low moans and gasps drift through the open country air.

"That's it pup, I love hearin' you."

The werewolf's steady attentions are maddening, yet effectively work up the wizard to heights he hasn't ever come close to before with anyone else. His words degrade into senseless babbling as Fenrir alternates his technique from gentle licks to intense suckling. The familiar rasp of the man's beard creates a pleasant friction against the sensitive skin of Harry's inner thighs. All the while, two of his fingers tease his mate's entrance. Yielding easily to Fenrir's touch, Harry moans when he is finally breached by slick fingers. The man slowly builds up his pace until the digits are mercilessly stimulating the small gland inside to heighten the wizard's pleasure. All the while, Fenrir maintains his oral ministrations at a steady, tortuous pace. 

It isn't long before Harry's body starts to tense as his body prepares for release. His own fingers tighten in Fenrir's hair, wordlessly signaling that he is about to snap. With a growl of acknowledgment, the werewolf only increases his attentions and speed Harry towards his end. The wizard's mouth falls open in a soundless scream as he prepares himself to be hit full force with pleasure. Harry is shocked that Fenrir makes no effort to move away and the sight is far more arousing than he cares to admit. So, closing his eyes to focus on the sensations coursing through him, the wizard thrusts up instinctively into the warm heat of his mate's mouth and back onto the thickness of the man's fingers.

As his body starts to come down from the high that Fenrir has worked it up to, Harry flops back to the blanket-covered ground completely drained of all energy. Uneven pants are the only thing the wizard is capable of producing as a lazy smile comes to his lips. After he tucks Harry away and back into his pants, Fenrir crawls back up his satisfied mate's body. He instigates a slow, lingering kiss, taking the time to lick every inch of his mate's delectable mouth. Harry returns each touch to his lips diligently and without much thought, oddly enjoying the taste of himself paired with Fenrir.

"W-wait," voices Harry, as his lips are freed and Fenrir starts licking along his claim mark. "Er, what about you? Do you want me to, um—"

" _Later_ , I look forward to you doin' whatever you like to me. But now, you need your rest."

Harry accepts the answer with a smirk, already thinking of ways to show his appreciation to the werewolf once his energy returns to him. Resting his head on his side, the wizard curls his body so that he is cradled against Fenrir's imposing form. Harry presses his back against the firm planes of the man's chest. One of Fenrir's arms sneaks around his waist and brings him even closer—the gesture is comforting, as well as an effective way to stave off the chill of the late-summer evening. A smile appears on Harry's face as he feels the werewolf's nose bury itself into his unruly hair and his hand settles on the swell of his pregnant belly. 

"You alright, pup?"

At the question, the wizard simply closes his eyes with a content sigh.

"I'm fine, Fenrir. I'm just resting. You'd do well to brace yourself in the meantime."

"Oh?" teases the werewolf, his hand drifting down to stroke along the exposed skin of his mate's hip. "What exactly is my little wizard plannin' to do?"

Harry smirks instead of responding. Reaching behind him, the wizard's hand slips into Fenrir's pants to close around the solid girth of his mate. The surprisingly bold contact to his cock has the werewolf growling low in his throat. At the sound, Harry starts to slowly move his hand up and down, alternating the pressure, in a maddening pace. As he feels Fenrir's grip tighten on his hip and the labored breath against his skin, the young wizard increases his speed. Harry has never touched a cock besides his own, yet as he feels the familiar girth and hears Fenrir's encouraging groans, he gains confidence in his strokes. His cheeks blush as the auror feels a searing lick to his claiming mark along with the steady thrusts that the alpha makes into his hand. In addition to the pheromones that normally clouds their bedroom activities, Harry is unprepared for the pleasure he feels by simply providing a release for Fenrir. For once, his own pursuit for pleasure isn't distracting the wizard from experiencing the werewolf's incredibly-arousing groans and the downright lascivious filth that the man murmurs into his ear like a sacred prayer.

All in all, this intimate reconnection is exactly what both Harry and Fenrir needed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter, it was fun coming up with an explanation behind Harry's pregnancy. One of the challenges of using MPREG in fanfiction, is making something highly improbable(even in a world full of magic) seem plausible without using a cliche approach like an all-too-convenient spell. Granted, I fudged a few things here and there for sake of plot, but I tried to add a little originality to it. *shrug*
> 
> And yeah, Harry and Fenrir are having a little boy! I might draw a fanart of the family, however that probably won't be until after this story is wrapped up. And, yeah a bit of a steamy scene at the end there to establish some physical intimacy.
> 
> BTW, if you like my writing style and are interested in reading some of my original work, I do have an illustrated novel titled "Beached"(website link: www.beachednovel.weebly.com ) which is a romance between a surfer and merman. It's a slowburn romance for those of you that like a more drawn-out relationship. You can read the first chapter there for free and it also links to the Amazon sell page. Thanks!
> 
> Later Days,
> 
> RENKA


	8. Driven Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANNNND, here's chapter 8! This is where the story starts to take a turn*cue the drama*(I'm trying not to give too much away here!).
> 
> BTW, Sorry about the delay, I was visiting some friends in Denver and things are getting kinda crazy on my end. So, I haven't had much chance to write lately.  
> ENJOY!

After carefully extricating himself from the arms of his sleeping mate that morning, Fenrir once again finds himself in the Forbidden Forest. To be honest, the man would rather be wrapped up in Harry, the wizard has a habit of being rather affectionate when he's half asleep. The comforting intimacy of their bed is a temptation Fenrir makes himself deny every morning in favor of his work.

The ominous trees of the Forbidden Forest are almost comforting in their own familiarity.

Almost.

Over the course of about seven months of intense work, nearly all of the eerie woodland has been charted. The aurors' enchanted scroll is now almost completely filled in with the various terrain and territories of the Forbidden Forest. Newly-discovered inhabitants and the diverse fauna of the woods have also been properly catalogued and reflected on the new map. Staring down at the parchment, Fenrir's intense blue eyes narrow on the one, remaining blank area of the map—the cavern system that has fresh evidence of being inhabited by a forest troll.

Since that discovery, Fenrir has kept his group away from the large lumbering creature. Trolls aren't particularly hard to take down, but trolls aren't exactly pleasant either—it is just easier to avoid them whenever possible. In an open environment, the advantages of speed, numbers, and a wide attack range tend to overrule the hulking size and strength of a troll. However, this situation is different. If the troll attacks the werewolves and the aurors inside the cave, the tight confines limit the effectiveness of any attack(physical or magical).

However despite this rather annoying obstacle, the map of the Forbidden Forest has to be completed—Ministry of Magic's orders.

With a heavy sigh, Fenrir concedes that they need to finish their exploration of the labyrinth-like cave system. The quicker this all gets done, the quicker he and his new family can return to his pack and finally wash his hands of the meddling wizards. 

"Alright, we're heading back to the cave system," begins the alpha wolf as he stands before the mouth of the sprawling cavern. Fenrir's deep voice instantly gaining the attention of the werewolves and aurors around him. "Keep your guard up. The last time we were here, Scarlett and I scented fresh forest troll. If you spot the thing, DO NOT ENGAGE IT. We're not here to start anythin'."

Nodding their assent, the werewolves dutifully split into two groups. Scarlett and Derrick take Abigail and her fellow wizards as Mason leads the other team of beta wolves and aurors. As supplies are gathered and organized, Fenrir goes over to one of the betas of the other exploration team. The man is a few years older than the alpha, his own physique rivaling Fenrir's impressive build.

"Espen," he calls, getting the man's attention. "Make sure the aurors in your group are well protected."

"Got it, Fenrir," the elder wolf replies as a knowing smile stretches his worn face. "Wouldn't want to upset your little mate, hmm?"

Fenrir smirks at the comment as he claps a hand on Espen's shoulder.

"Somethin' like that. If anythin' comes up, just make sure they get out first, no exceptions. We wolves can take care of ourselves, but I won't have any of us bein' blamed for an auror gettin' hurt. No need to give the Ministry another thing to hold against us."

With that last order, Espen nods as the groups split up and make their way into the caves once again. Both werewolves and wizards alike are trained for any scent or sound that seems even the slightest bit off. Hours pass by as the team of aurors meticulously map their way through the uncharted areas of the cavern. And despite all them being on edge for a possible troll sighting, nothing more than a few bats and snakes cross their path. It is rather anti-climatic, but it finally allows everyone to relax just a bit.

"Remain sharp," growls out Fenrir, sensing the ease in alertness. "Just because we don't see a troll yet, don't mean it ain't here."

Exploring the dark, winding pathways that sprawl underneath the entire Forbidden Forest is not an easy or quick job. The uneven ground and rocky terrain is harder on the aurors, yet the cavern is filled with musty, stagnant air that has the wolves on edge. Endless darkness is illuminated by wand light and bioluminescent glowworms that cling to the rock around them. Satisfied with their headway, Fenrir decides that their progress for the day is sufficient. The alpha's group has been moving, with only a break for lunch, for eight hours. And after finally taking a good overall look at the cave system, it is within reason to assume that it will take no more than a week to complete the extensive map.

At this conclusion, a sense of relief washes over Fenrir Greyback. The notorious werewolf is more than ready to be released from his contract with the Ministry of magic.

For a brief moment, all seems to be well.

That is until a series of low thuds are heard echoing in the distance. At first they are soft, but grow with time; the cavern seeming to shake with the impact. It doesn't take long for everyone to realize what the source of the ominous sound is—a forest troll. And judging by the lumbering gait and angry grunts, not one that is at all pleased to have guests in its home. The three werewolves are instantly on alert as they listen to see what direction the troll will take. The tension then heightens as Fenrir, Derrick, and Scarlett realize with varying degrees of dread that the creature is only coming closer.

"Is that the troll?" asks Abigail, her voice low. "Is it coming clo—"

"Everyone stop talking," interrupts Fenrir.

Giving his betas only a look, Fenrir silently gestures to Scarlett and Derrick to remain behind him and guard the aurors.

A few tense moments pass before the troll makes its way to them. Even in the dark cave, the rough features of the troll are visible. His pallid blue skin is caked in dirt and grime as tatters of natural cloth barely covers his modesty. Thankfully, the beast is not armed with a crude club that his kind seems to favor, however the absence of a weapon will do little to hinder the troll's ability to dole out some serious damage. Upon spotting the aurors and three werewolves, the large, cumbersome creature stops in its tracks. A cry of outrage leaves the troll's mouth as he spots the intruders in his current home.

With apparently no thought, the troll charges towards them. His mouth snarling in rage as his thundering footfalls echo throughout the chamber. Fenrir quickly takes action and charges to meet the creature head on. 

Lashing out with one of its large, tree trunk arms, the troll attempts to grab the alpha werewolf. Fenrir crouches low and avoids it, then rolls underneath the troll. Confused by the evasive action, the troll turns around to swing again, only to miss once again as Fenrir dodges the heavy fist. With some snarls of his own, Fenrir launches his own strikes that make the troll grunt in pain.

As their alpha effectively engages the large beast, Scarlett and Derrick immediately start herding the aurors out of harm's way.

"Let's go, move it!" shouts Derrick, leading the way to a narrow passageway just big enough for them all to squeeze through. "Once you've gained enough distance, apparate to the mouth of the cave!"

"But what about Mr. Greyback?" asks Abigail, looking over her shoulder as Fenrir manages to body slam the troll into the cave wall.

"He'll be fine," assures Scarlett as she takes the girl's arm. "I've seen him take on bigger, and much smarter, creatures by himself. He can handle a single forest troll."

Fenrir continues to effectively dodge the attacks of the troll, distracting him so that the group can make it past the rampaging creature. The werewolf doesn't particularly want to kill the beast, so he focuses on simply disarming it. Sidestepping another one of the large fists trying to connect with his head, Fenrir uses the troll's large weight against him and attacks its stubby legs. The clumsy creature loses its balance and falls heavily to the ground. A bit confused, but not unconscious, it slowly gets up again. Fenrir pants as his mind works to plan out his next move, this time hoping to permanently disable the creature. However the werewolf is startled from his thoughts as a blast of magic suddenly hits the side of the troll's head. Turning to the source, piercing blue eyes widen to see Abigail standing on the sidelines, her wand out.

"Mr. Greyback, are you alright?"

Her question remains unanswered as the troll gets back up. The creature's dark gaze settles on the new, weaker arrival.

It takes but a moment for Fenrir to realize what the creature is going to do. Within a few short steps, the troll grabs the girl with surprising speed. Abigail manages to launch another stun spell before she is captured in the troll's grip, but it has little effect. The gargantuan palm around Abigail squeezes her thin body tightly. A pained groan gurgles out of her mouth as intense pressure is applied to her ribs, threatening to break bones. Thankfully, the pressure is short-lived as the troll lets out his own painful cry.

Distracted by his new prey, the troll had made a fatal mistake—he forgot all about the deadly werewolf.

Fenrir's thick arms lock themselves around the troll's neck and easily crush the windpipe of the lumbering creature. With a sickening crunch, Fenrir forces the creature's head to the side, killing it instantly. The dead troll falls to the ground, releasing Abigail from its hand as the life drains out of its body. For a few moments, only deep haggard breaths escape Fenrir's and Abigail's lips and echo in the cavern.

"What the fuck were you tryin to do?!" growls out the werewolf as he stands to his feet. "You tryin' to get yerself killed, girl?!"

"I-I was just trying to help," winces out the witch. Her voice punctuated by ragged breathing.

With a grumble, the battle-bruised man makes his way over to the injured girl. Fenrir gently picks up Abigail into his arms, trying his best not to jostle the injured woman as he stands up. Apparating to the mouth of the cave, the werewolf and the witch instantly attracts everyone's attention.

"What happened?" Derrick asks as he and Scarlett run up to their alpha, the other aurors trailing behind them.

"The troll's dead, the girl got hurt, though."

At hearing this, the other aurors come closer to their injured companion. With a wand out, one of the other witches attempts to heal her friend. In the light of the late afternoon sun, the unnatural paleness of Abigail's face is now visible. A whimper escapes her throat as even the light touch of magic aggravates the intense pain radiating from the witch's torso.

"These wounds are serious. I'm afraid I can't do anymore than numb the pain a bit."

Considering the other auror's words for a moment, Fenrir firms his grip on the injured witch in his arms.

"Derrick, wait here for Espen's group. Let them know what happened and make sure that the aurors return safely to Hogsmeade. I'll meet you there when I can."

"Fenrir, what're you going to do?" asks Scarlett, concern in her eyes as she spots the grim expression on her alpha's face.

"Well first, I'm takin' her to St. Mungo's to see a healer. We all know that I'm better at breaking bones than mending 'em. After that, I'll probably have to deal with the Ministry for awhile."

The werewolf says nothing else as he apparates himself and Abigail to the wizard hospital. But after their alpha leaves, Scarlett and Derrick share a mutual look of concern.

 

* * *

 

 

In the Creature Injury Wing of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Head Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck is more than surprised to see Fenrir Greyback approaching him. The two aren't exactly on good terms, seeing as the medi-wizard had treated many of the infamous werewolf's victims. However, despite that, the healer is a professional. A fact that is proven when he ignores the sudden appearance of Fenrir to immediately focus on the injured witch in his arms.

"What happened?"

"Forest Troll attack," replies the werewolf, as he gently deposits Abigail onto a nearby empty stretcher. "I'm pretty sure a few of her ribs are broken."

Nodding, the healer immediately approaches the witch whimpering in pain. Smethwyck then goes to work verifying the werewolf's rough diagnosis. His wand moves slowly over the injured witch, Abigail scrunching her face in as clear effort to remain conscious.

"Yes, there are definitely a few broken ribs," states the healer, using a hand to gently feel the damage. "It appears that there is some intense internal bruising as well. Thankfully, it doesn't appear that any of her ribs have punctured any organs."

At the touches, Abigail whimpers again as he face tightens in pain.

"What is your name, Miss?"

"A-abigail. Abigail Heathrow."

"Alright, Ms.Heathrow. You're going to be fine," assures Healer Smethwyck with a comforting smile. "A few broken bones are easy to fix around here."

"T-thank you."

Looking over his shoulder, the Healer in charge notices a few apprentice healers walking by.

"You three, help me bring this patient to the exam room. We have some broken ribs to mend and internal bruising to alleviate."

Fenrir watches silently as the flurry of healers take Abigail away to be properly healed. The man still can't believe how careless her actions in the cave were, yet he finds himself hoping that the well-meaning witch will be alright.

Which, admittedly, is a first for him. Fenrir has never really concerned himself with the well-being of the wizards around him. If anything, he's always been annoyed with their fragility and dependence on a wand to make them anywhere near useful in battle. 

But now, he can't help but feel responsible for the over-eager auror. The same feeling he has reserved only for the members of his pack.

"Fenrir, there you are! How's Abigail?"

Turning around, the werewolf finds himself face to face with the worried expression of his mate. Harry is dressed in his official Ministry robes, the flowing material hiding their child well even without the use of cloaking charms. Seeing the auror's forest-green eyes staring up expectantly at him, Fenrir's expression softens ever so slightly. Harry's presence alone manages to vastly improve the werewolf's mood.

By the moon, he was gettin' soft.

(Well, not all of him)

"Accordin' to Smethwyck, she'll be fine," replies Fenrir, his thoughts turning back to the matter at hand. "He's looking over her now."

Noticing the concerned look on the man's face, Harry moves to the man's side and places a hand on Fenrir's broad shoulder. The wizard not seeming to care who could be watching them at the moment. 

"Don't blame yourself Fenrir. I know that you did everything you could to protect her."

"How are you so sure of that?" asks the man with a raised eyebrow. 

"Well, I know that you are a good alpha. And a good alpha takes care of those he's responsible for, including my aurors."

"Not good enough, apparently," argues the werewolf.

"They all knew what dangers they were facing, and each one of the aurors with you are well-trained to handle those dangers," Harry offers as a counter argument. "And more importantly, they all think for themselves, Abigail especially. That's why I chose them to accompany a group of werewolves led by the notorious Fenrir Greyback."

"Wait, you chose the aurors?"

The incredulous look on the werewolf's face causes a chuckle to leave Harry's lips.

"Well, Minister Shacklebolt just asked me to choose the aurors I thought best suited to the task of mapping out the Forbidden Forest. The werewolf part I discovered once I read the full proposal," replies the Head Auror nonchalantly. "But still, I chose Abigail, because she's smart and brave. The other aurors told me how she went back on her own to help you. Granted, it might not have been the wisest thing Abigail has ever done, but I'm still very grateful to her."

"Why?"

With a secretive smile, Harry locks eyes with Fenrir.

"She protected my mate when I wasn't there to do it myself."

Fenrir is surprised by the amount of possessiveness in the wizard's voice. The hardened look in Harry's green eyes is startling as well as arousing. At the surprised look on Fenrir's face, Harry's hand squeezes the man's shoulder reassuringly.

"Abigail is a tough auror, she'll be alright."

"She's not the only one," begins Fenrir with a grin. "I think I remember hearin' that you beat a forest troll once yourself."

"Well, it wasn't just me. Ron and Hermione were there too."

"I'm not surprised. You three are a magnet for trouble. Tell me about it."

At the shared smile, Harry leads the way into the ward, the auror telling the story of his first-year encounter will a forest troll. Both men settling down to wait for the Healers to finish their work on the injured witch.

 

But unfortunately for Fenrir, the Minister of Magic isn't quite as understanding as Harry.

 

"Fenrir, that girl could have died!" exclaims Kingsley, his deep voice echoing throughout his office a few hours later. "An auror getting seriously injured under the watch of Fenrir Greyback will not be taken well. When the Daily Prophet gets a hold of this story, they will have a field day."

"I'm well aware of that, Shacklebolt," replies the werewolf as he stands before the Kingsley, his arms crossed over his chest.

At the nonchalant response, the Minister settles further into his chair with a sigh. His hand goes up to massage his temple, no doubt a futile attempt to stave off an upcoming headache.

"The Ministry needs that map completed as quickly as possible," starts the dark-skinned wizard as he reviews an official-looking parchment on his desk. "Due to recent events, they now want the Forbidden Forest completely charted before the students return to Hogwarts in September. That only gives you another week or so."

"Shouldn't be a problem."

"However, they now also want you to provide assistance to the MACUSA and investigate a series of severe wolf attacks in Alaska that are being reported by their Muggle newspapers. The evidence points to it being a rogue werewolf."

"Alaska?!" shouts Fenrir, the werewolf turning over a nearby chair. "This job with the Forbidden Forest was supposed to be my last! You wizards just can't just go addin' things onto it and loanin' me around, we had a fuckin' deal!"

"You messed up, Fenrir," points out Kingsley, the man impressively impassive with an angry werewolf tearing up his office. "You should be glad that this is all the Ministry wants you to do to make amends. Besides, it should be an easy job for you to handle one of your own."

"Whether or not I can handle some damn rogue werewolf isn't the problem, Shacklebolt."

"Then what is the problem?"

At the question, Fenrir thinks back to the compromise he agreed to with Harry. He promised his pregnant mate that they would stay in England until after the baby is born. He had given Harry his word and has no intention of breaking it, even for the Ministry of Magic.

"The cub is due in November."

Minister Shacklebolt's face visibly softens at the statement. His brow furrows as he seems to consider Harry's pregnancy alongside this new assignment.

"Ah, I see. Well, there is no reason why Harry cannot go with you. I can provide both of you with another comfortable home while you handle this task in Alaska. I'll send you the details later. Until then, give your _better half_ my best."

Getting up to leave the man's office, Fenrir's thoughts are heavy. He doesn't want to break his promise to Harry, yet at the same time he can't let his pack down. Fenrir's choice, no matter which he makes, affects more than just himself. As the powerful alpha he is, this responsibility is nothing new for him.

However, Fenrir is at a crossroads. The considerate mate in him wants to keep his promise to Harry and stay in their cabin outside of Hogsmeade—the Ministry's demands be damned. The alpha in him just wants to be free of the tight reins that the bureaucratic wizards have on him, even if it means .

Despite this personal introspection, the inescapable truth of the matter is that as long as the Ministry has Fenrir Greyback under their control, they control every werewolf that follows him.

And that doesn't sit well with any part of Fenrir.

 

* * *

 

In the days that pass after the forest troll attack, Fenrir focuses all his energy into his work. The arduous task of completing the map of Forbidden Forest is a welcome distraction from the looming decision that he has to make. This sudden dedication from Fenrir has caught the attention of his beta wolves, as well as the aurors, yet no one is willing to risk questioning the irate alpha.

However, no one has noticed the change in Fenrir more than the werewolf's mate, Harry James Potter.

One morning, as the large man gets ready to leave the cottage for another day, the green-eyed auror approaches Fenrir with a determined look on his face.

"Fenrir, is everything alright?"

"Yeah, pup," rumbles out Fenrir. At the odd look on the wizard's face, he looks deeper at Harry. "Is everything alright with you and the cub?"

"Yes. Healer Merriweather said everything's fine with the baby," Harry assures him, his hand subconsciously rubbing over their growing baby. "Yesterday at my appointment, we decided that we'd continue to use alchemy to deliver the baby instead of a spell or an operation. We even scheduled an appointment to do the procedure in late November. I had kind of hoped that you were going to meet me at St. Mungo's."

"Some things came up in the Forest. I couldn't leave, Harry."

As the man speaks, his attention is focused on tying the strings of his boots. Harry sighs dejectedly, though quickly hides it with a forced smile. The wizard silently notices that these awkward interactions have become a common occurrence lately. 

"Oh, alright. I understand. Um, Hermione and I are planning to go shopping for some things for the baby in London. Do you think that you could join us, later?"

"I dunno, pup. Things are getting really busy out in the forest. The cavern system is almost finished."

"I see."

Finished putting his boots on, the werewolf stands up to his full height. His thick fingers tilt Harry's face upward, locking their gazes together. Fenrir says nothing, though Harry can tell from the furrow of his brow and tense set of the man's jaw that his mate has something troubling him. Unfortunately, a quick kiss to the lips before he turns to put on his coat is all that Fenrir gives him. Harry is still reeling from the sudden, yet brief, display of affection when Fenrir finally says something.

"I don't know when I'll be back, so don't wait up for me, pup. You need your rest."

"Alright. Have a good d—"

Harry's words die out as the werewolf brusquely walks out of the door. As the closing thud echoes throughout the house, another sigh leaves the wizard's lips. He places a hand on his enlarged belly as he feels the baby move inside him. Even after carrying for the last six months or so, the constant shifting and movement of his unborn child is still an odd feeling for Harry. A few soft coos and gentle rubs later, a soft smile graces the auror's face as the baby appears to finally settle down.

"You're worried about your father, too, aren't you, little guy?" asks the pregnant wizard, conversing with his unborn son. "Let's make tea while we wait for Auntie Hermione, hmm?"

Turning around, Harry makes his way towards the kitchen. The wizard is secretly proud of himself that his stride hasn't become a full-blown waddle, yet. Reaching the kitchen, he fills the tea kettle and places it on the stove. Harry finds comfort in going through the familiar motions of selecting two mugs and preparing the fragrant tea leaves. As he stands there, literally watching the water boil, the wizard is surprised when Hermione suddenly enters the room.

"Good morning, Harry!" greets the witch with a bright smile. "Sorry I'm late, but Ron insisted that I make pancakes before I left. He's fascinated by how muggles make them without magic."

"Hey Hermione," greets Harry as he hands one of his closest friends a cup of tea.

"Harry, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, just a bit tired. Hopefully the tea will help."

Hermione doesn't quite believe her friend, but decides to let the subject drop for now.

"Alright, if you say so. Are you ready to go then?"

"Yes, let me just get my jacket."

It takes only a touch to the portkey Hermione has created for the pair to find themselves walking through downtown London. As the two wizards enter one of the small baby boutiques, the couple is warmly greeted by a elderly woman running the store, but are then left to shop at their leisure. Then again, this is probably due to the glamour charm as well as a protection ward protecting Harry's hidden baby. To an outsider, it simply looks like Harry and Hermione are a young, expecting couple shopping for their first child.

"Now why on Earth would a baby need a purse?" inquires Hermione, holding up a ridiculously-small replica of a couture purse. "This is just excessive, don't you think?"

"Err, sure."

"Harry, what's wrong?" asks Hermione, with a concerned tone.

The witch has noticed that Harry has been down all morning, however it has only intensified since entering the baby clothing store. Placing her hand on his shoulder, Hermione steers Harry to a less-populated area of the shop.

"It's nothing, really," offers the Head Auror as he finds himself in an aisle full of stuffed animals of all species and colors.

"Harry, it's quite obvious that it is not nothing. Now out with it."

Noticing the stern look on the woman's face, Harry knows that the clever witch will see through any lie immediately. He takes a deep breath to clear his thoughts as his fingers absently start stroking a nearby grey [wolf plushie](https://www.amazon.com/Nat-Jules-Wolf-Plush-Small/dp/B007B5GZNI)(It is rather adorable).

"Well, it's just that Fenrir has been acting so different, lately. Something is bothering him but he won't tell me what it is."

"Maybe he's just preoccupied with his work," suggests Hermione. "That auror, Abigail was seriously hurt, wasn't she? I'm sure he's just on edge about that."

"I wish that's all it is. He's being distant," admits Harry. "Fenrir is many things, but never distant. If anything, he's usually all over me."

At first Hermione is confused by her friend's joking words. But when she looks closer at Harry, her eyes soften at the hidden sadness in his eyes.

"Harry, if how Fenrir is acting bothers you, you should talk to him about it. He is your mate, isn't he? And after all, he might not even be aware that he's acting this way. "

"That's just it. I can't talk to him. He only comes home to sleep and eat. I barely see him long enough to have a full conversation. Apparently, he doesn't even have enough time to be intimate with me."

At the blush forming on her friend's face, Hermione instantly gets the hidden meaning of his words.

"Are you saying that you two aren't having sex anymore?" inquires the witch, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"Yeah. It's been awhile since he's touched me. Before, it was unusual if we only did it once a day. Now, I'm lucky if I get a parting kiss. It's like he's avoiding me."

"Harry, I'm sure it's nothing. I mean, I've seen the way he looks at you. To be honest, I've accidentally apparated in on you two enough times to know that there is a definite attraction between the two of you."

"But what if he's tired of me? I mean, look at me. I'm as big as a house and I'm ridiculously hormonal. I literally cried over spilt milk the other day. I mean, if he's lost interest, it would explain a lot."

"Harry, stop that train of thought this instant. You and I both know that isn't the case. It's obviously something else."

Taken aback by Hermione's insistence, Harry's eyes widen in surprise. The wizard can't deny that hearing those words from his friend's mouth does wonders to ease his doubts.

"I really hope you're right, Hermione."

"When will you and Ronald learn?" begins the witch with a grin. "I am always right. Now let's pick out some practical clothes for the baby."

With a small smile, Harry follows Hermione back to the clothing section of the store. He grabs the wolf plushie along the way.

 

* * *

 

Exactly one tense week later, the main hall of the Ministry of Magic is enchanted with beautiful decorations. All in attendance are celebrating the success of the teams of werewolves and aurors that have completely charted the dangerous terrain of the Forbidden Forest. On the large wall, the intricate map is displayed for all to see. The ancient territorial lines of various magical creatures as well as the many natural wonders of the Forbidden Forest are on display on the large enchanted parchment. Kingsley and a few other high-ranking ministers stand before the map as reporter wizards take photos and interview them.

From his position far from the attention of the wizards, Fenrir watches the spectacle. His blue eyes are indifferent, the werewolf not truly caring if the Ministry wants to take credit for the work he and his betas have done. All he cares about is the reward that the completion of this task ensures.

He chooses not to focus on the other task he has to complete to ensure his freedom.

Lost in his thoughts, the man still notices the appearance of his mate. The familiar scent of the pregnant wizard teases him, making his nostrils flare in an effort to inhale more of the intoxicating aroma.

"Hello, pup."

At the greeting, a bright smile blossoms across Harry's face.

"I saw the map today, it looks great Fenrir. I can't believe that you all did all that work so quickly, and with months to spare! It's brilliant. I'm so proud of you."

Isolated in their alcove of the dark marble hallway, Harry reaches up to hug the man with a wide smile on his face. The werewolf is surprised by the gesture, but makes no move to avoid it. It has been far too long since he's had his mate in his arms. The self-enforced celibacy had helped Fenrir narrow his focus to complete the map. Yet now, with that task finally complete, his desire for Harry is bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Caught up in the embrace, Fenrir's breath hitches as he picks up on the hints of lust emanating from the pregnant wizard. The scent only serving to further remind the man of how long he's been withholding from enjoying all of the aspects of being mated to Harry Potter. Now that the map of the Forbidden Forest is completed, the werewolf would prefer to celebrate the accomplishment alone with his mate rather than at the Ministry of Magic. Hell, if Fenrir had his way, he'd be pushing Harry up against the closest wall to show everyone in the room exactly who the Savior of the Wizarding World belongs to. And the way that Harry keeps shyly sneaking glances up at him, isn't helping matters.

"Enough of that pup. It's too close to the full moon to tease me like that," growls out Fenrir as he reluctantly removes Harry's arms from around his neck. "Can't promise I'll be gentle with ya."

At the husky tone, Harry has to bite his lip to stop the moan from his lips—it has been far too long since his mate has given him more than a lingering kiss. Schooling his features to a more appropriate expression, Harry looks up at the man.

"Are you going to be alright with the full moon and all?"

At the genuine concern, Fenrir looks at his mate. The blush tainting the wizard's cheeks paired with the fresh wave of lust pouring off Harry, makes the werewolf emit a low growl.

"I'll be fine. Just stop teasing me when I can't do anything about it," grumbles out the werewolf. His voice lacking any real bite to it.

"So," begins Harry, his hand trailing up the man's arm. "What are you going to do when you can do something about it?"

At the challenge, whatever is left of Fenrir's restraint breaks.

Harry's eyes widen in surprise as he is suddenly pushed against the wall. The only thing separating the mated couple from the crowd of the party is a thick, heavy curtain. The wizard's lips are suddenly assaulted by Fenrir's mouth, a whimper leaving his throat at the passionate kiss that engulfs him. Just as suddenly as it started, the kiss is broken off as the werewolf suddenly spins Harry around. With his hands pressed against the cool marble, the wizard groans as he feels a rough lick to his mating mark. Possessive hands travel down the side of his body, rubbing slowing over their growing child, before the large palms rest on the slight curve of Harry's hips. A gasp leaves the wizard's lips as he feels a familiar bulge pressing into his ass.

"The second we leave here, we're headed straight for our bed," begins Fenrir, as his hips mimic what he really wants to do. "Can't say that we'll stay there though. We both know how much you like it when we go at it on the floor, against a wall, in the kitch—"

"Ah Fenrir," moans out Harry, interrupting the words pouring from Fenrir's mouth.

A grin appears on the werewolf's face as he notices that the wizard is trying to keep his voice down.

"However, you and I have a party to attend. So, unfortunately, this is gonna have to wait."

Sending a glare over his shoulder at the cockiness in Fenrir's voice, Harry takes a second to get his bearings.

"Alright, let's get this over with."

The werewolf smirks at the impatience in his mate's voice before attempting to help straighten out the Head Auror's robes. Satisfied that they both look presentable, the wizard and the werewolf make their way out of their private alcove and towards the party. As they walk, a sudden, sharp pain in his side makes Harry wince. Instantly, a thick arm winds its way around him.

"Pup?"

"I'm alright. It's just a cramp."

"Do you need to sit down?"

"No, walking a bit seems to help, actually. Water would be nice though."

"Water it is, then."

Leaning against one of the tall table through out the hall, Harry watches Fenrir disappear into the crowd in search of the open bar. It isn't long until the wizard is approached by the Minister of Magic, a warm smile on his features.

"Oh, Hello Harry."

"Hello Kingsley," Harry replies, easing his discomfort by rubbing his side in slow circles.

"Marvelous party, isn't it? The Ministry wanted to go all out, after all this is the first time that anyone's attempted to map the Forbidden Forest. Let alone, actually do it."

"I'm sure that they are even more pleased that it was done early."

"Well, Fenrir had a bit of incentive," agrees Shacklebolt. "Speaking of which, I hope that you both are all packed."

"Packed?"

"Yes, this time next week you'll be in Alaska, I imagine. Compared to the snow of Hogsmeade, I'm sure you both will adjust just fine. And don't worry, your paid leave will kick in about a month so that you two can get things 'settled'. Although personally, I think Ron can't wait for you to return all your duties as Head Auror. I found the poor boy sleeping at his desk the other day."

At the chuckle that leaves Kingsley mouth, Harry smiles politely, The Head Auror somehow manages to hide his confusion, disappointment, and growing anger. It is at that exact moment that Fenrir returns and hands Harry a goblet of water. With a glare, the wizard takes it and takes a deep sip.

"What did I miss?"

"Well Fenrir," begins Harry with a deceptively pleasant tone. "Kingsley and I were just talking about our trip to Alaska next week. The one that you failed to mention."

The werewolf tenses up the second he detects the low simmering rage in his mate's voice.

"Well, excuse me. I'll leave you two to your discussion."

With that, the Minister of Magic leaves Fenrir to deal with an irate Head Auror. The minister ignoring the pointed glare coming from the alpha werewolf.

"Look Harry, I-"

"I don't want to hear it. You promised me that we could stay here in England until the baby is born. Why didn't you just tell Kingsley to wait?"

"It ain't that simple, pup."

"Why not? You don't let anyone else tell you what to do. What's the difference if it's the Minister of Magic?" challenges Harry in a hushed whisper.

Taking a deep breath, the wizard calms himself down.

"Fenrir, you know everything about my life but tell me nothing about yours. If we're going to be together you have to share things with me so that we can work it out together. We're having a baby, for Merlin's sake. You don't hide things from me."

Unbeknownst to the wizard, he is subtly challenging the Alpha's authority with his rightful anger. Normally, this wouldn't be such a problem, but so close to a full moon, it isn't a good idea.

So, when Fenrir suddenly invades his personal space, Harry is shocked when his mate's blue eyes narrow into a deadly glare.

"I'm your Alpha, you'll do as I say," begins the werewolf, his voice just above a threatening growl. "You'll know whatever I decide is right for you to know. You don't question me."

At Fenrir's statement, that leaves absolutely no room for argument, Harry does the exact opposite of what anyone else would, or could, do in his position. Emerald green eyes harden into their own glare and stare right back at the imposing alpha wolf.

"I'm not some misbehaving pack member, I'm your infuriated mate," hisses out Harry, between clenched teeth. "I'm not just going to cower submissively whenever you growl and glare at me. You don't seem to get that and you're the werewolf, how's that for irony?"

Everything within the werewolf is clamoring for him to assert his dominance over the other male, yet simultaneously his instincts are urging him to calm his pregnant mate. Fenrir knows that Harry has valid reason to be angry, yet the alpha wolf that is just beneath the surface is riled by the direct challenge. Clenching his hands into tight fists, Fenrir is able to hold back his rage—barely.

"Harry, I'm not going to slack on my responsibilities as Head of the Greyback packs just because I knocked you up! I have to think about more than just our family!"

A look of hurt flashes across the wizard's face, before it is replaced with renewed anger. Green eyes narrow and focus on Fenrir, completely ignoring any one else in the room. However, by this point in their argument, all the wizards and witches around them are completely silent as they listen in on the lover's spat. Varying looks of shock are displayed as everyone learns that Harry Potter and Fenrir Greyback are in a relationship and expecting a baby. However, the wizard and the werewolf are far to engrossed in their discussion to notice or care.

"I'm not even sure you know what a real family is Fenrir. The baby and I are just two more people you have to take care of in your mind. You don't let us in. I'm supposed to be your mate but you don't let me take care of you. You don't let me help you. You just expect me to go along with whatever you say. I'm not that type of person and you of all people should know that!"

Taking a deep breath, Harry glares up at Fenrir. His face looks conflicted, caught between anger and something else that the werewolf can't quite identify.

"Look I told you before, I can raise this baby on my own if I need to. The two of us will be just fine, _without_ you."

Sensing Harry's distress, Fenrir moves closer to soothe his mate. The wolf instantly regrets everything that has passed through his lips in the last few minutes.

"Harry, you don't mea—"

"I mean every word of it, Greyback!" snaps the wizard moving out of the werewolf's reach. "Don't follow me!"

With that, Harry storms out through the crowd(which quickly parts for the pissed-off Head Auror) and heads towards the Floo Network. Frozen in shock, the werewolf doesn't even notice that their spat has gotten the attention of all the people around them, including a few reporter-wizards for the Daily Prophet.

But even as cameras flash around him, all Fenrir can focus on is the growing ache caused by the rejection of his pregnant mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end it here! However, the next chapter won't take nearly as long to post, I promise!
> 
> As much as I hate to do it, Fenrir and Harry are facing their biggest hurdle yet(If you've seen the movie this fic is based off, the direction of the story won't surprise you).
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> RENKA


	9. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to take up too much of your time here with this note, however I will warn you that there are some "angsty" moments in this chapter. All I ask is that you trust your humble author with the direction of the story.
> 
> WARNING: Trigger moments ahead!!! I don't want to give anything away, but just know that there's no violence, death, and/or gore. Simply things that are said in the heat of the moment that may cross some lines for some people.

_THE DAILY PROPHET - SPECIAL EDITION_

**_Harry Potter, Head Auror of the Ministry of Magic and the Saviour of the Wizarding World, is PREGNANT!_ **

_It has been confirmed that Harry James Potter, "The Boy Who Lived", is carrying the child of the infamous werewolf Fenrir Greyback.The story initially broke a few nights ago at the Ministry gala celebrating the successful completion of the first comprehensive map that details the Forbidden Forest—an effort achieved by Greyback and his fellow werewolves along with a hand-selected team of aurors._ _It is speculated that through this joint endeavor is how Mr. Potter and Greyback first came into personal contact._

_Witnesses at the banquet claim that Harry Potter's pregnancy came to light during a public "lover's spat" between Mr. Potter and Greyback. The couple seemed to be completely oblivious to their audience as they carried on. Not only did they divulge that they are expecting a child during this altercation, the two men also revealed that they are mated(an institution equivalent to marriage among werewolves). The fight was brief, ending once Mr. Potter departed via the Floo Network(which is only to be done sparingly when one is pregnant) to an undisclosed location. Since that disagreement, neither Mr. Potter nor Greyback have been spotted in public._

_When reached for information on past instances of male pregnancies, the Healing staff at St. Mungo's has been forthcoming with general details but nothing that pertains to this particular case.* Head Healer Hippocrates Smethwyck has established that while male pregnancies have been documented throughout the course of Wizarding history, they still are an extremely rare phenomena. And upon further investigation through the medical archives, it was further discovered that there are absolutely no documented cases of this extraordinary development ever occurring between a wizard and a humanoid magical creature. M_ _any in the medical community are interested to observe this rather miraculous gestation from an academic standpoint and wish to keep an eye on ongoing development of the Greyback-Potter child for posterity._

 _(*It is unsure as to whether or not Mr. Potter has sought or had any treatment at the Wizarding Hospital during the stages of his pregnancy._ _And due to Head Auror Potter's use of a rather high-level glamour charm, it is also near impossible to tell how far along his pregnancy has progressed, never mind when the baby is due to arrive. Most estimates have Mr. Potter somewhere between late in his second trimester or early in his third)._

_The Wizarding public is predictably divided by the announcement of Harry Potter's pregnancy. Devout supporters of Mr. Potter eagerly await to celebrate the birth of the child while others are anxious of what this will mean for the young Head Auror. Rumors of a forced resignation are already being whispered among the Ministry, yet Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has claimed that there is no truth to these allegations in a statement released this morning:_

_"Harry Potter is an essential asset to the Ministry of Magic. His work as Head Auror has not only made for a more efficiently-run Auror Department, but a far more productive one. It is due to his extensive knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts and his diligence that nearly all of the Dark Lord's supporters are locked away in Azkaban and off the streets. Head Auror Potter's extensive revisions to the Auror training regimen alone have been directly responsible for creating the most powerful aurors the Ministry has had in recent history. Harry's personal choices are just that—personal and they have no bearing on his continued career at the Ministry of Magic as Head Auror._ _I firmly stand by my choice to appoint Harry to his position now more than ever."_

_While many share Minister Shacklebolt's opinion of Harry Potter, public opinion of Fenrir Greyback isn't as favorable. There are groups that are convinced that the secrecy surrounding Harry Potter's extraordinary pregnancy suggests that it was not a consensual union between the two men. And even more extreme parties of the Ministry of Magic, such as the Magical Children Protection Agency(M.C.P.A.)—whose individual members do not wish to be named at this time, believe that the child should be taken away from the influence of Fenrir Greyback immediately:_

_"This unborn child may be the progeny of the monstrous Greyback, yet we still believe it is an innocent member of Wizarding society. It is our duty to protect it. And in the best interest of the child, it should be removed from the care of such an irresponsible wizard and infamously vicious werewolf. Fenrir Greyback has a well-recorded and undeniable history of biting the children from powerful wizarding families, who knows what atrocities he will do to his own child? Not to mention, that it is still debatable as to whether or not Harry Potter himself is of sound mind if he is in fact Greyback's willing mate and carrier of this criminal's offspring. Pending an intensive review by the M.C.P.A., it is yet to be determined if either parent is fit to raise this child into a proper witch or wizard. However, rest assured, we will do whatever is necessary to ensure this child is given the right path in life."_

_(*At the time of this article no formal complaint has been made nor has any official investigation been launched pertaining to this particular case.)_

_Considering the fact that this case revolves around the relationship between a wizard and magical creature, i.e. a werewolf, the Head of the Department of Magical Creatures(and close friend of Harry Potter), Hermione Granger-Weasley was also contacted for comment. Mrs. Granger-Weasley submitted this statement:_

_"The pregnancy of Harry Potter, like any pregnancy, is a private matter between the expectant parents. Harry only kept it a secret, employing the use of glamour charms, to protect his unborn child from public scrutiny. There is nothing shameful about the relationship between Harry and Fenrir. They love their child and they only did what they thought was necessary to protect their baby, just as any other parent would. I know that their child will be in perfectly competent hands and no matter what outcome of any Ministry action or public outcry, they will continue to have the full support of myself and this department behind them."_

_The pregnancy of Harry Potter is on the lips of every wizard and witch for one reason or another. And despite any one wizard's or witch's opinion, the Potter-Greyback baby will be one of the most talked about children since "The Boy Who Lived" himself first graced our humble pages._

_[Both Harry Potter and Fenrir Greyback were unreachable for comment at the time this article was written.]_

 

"They want to take my baby away?!" asks Harry with a horrified expression on his face. The wizard unable to focus on any other part of the article. "I never even thought that was a possibility."

As the auror trails off at that disturbing thought, he sits in the spacious office of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. The pregnant wizard is resting on the couch lining one side of the office with the recent edition of the Daily Prophet clutched in his hands. Surrounding him are Ron and Hermione, both of which are clearly concerned for their best friend. Then again, Harry has paled considerably since he started reading the newspaper article emblazoned upon the front page of the Wizarding newspaper.

"Harry, mate, I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," soothes Ron, trying to keep the Head Auror calm. "Besides, we won't let anyone take your son away from you. Honest."

"Ron's absolutely right. Anyone with any bit of sense knows that you will be an excellent parent."

Despite Ron and Hermione's reassurances, Harry ignores them as he focuses on another part of the article—the section that focuses on the conception of their child. Re-reading it, a look of disgust settles into the wizard's forest-green eyes.

"After all that he's done in the Forbidden Forest, they're making Fenrir out to be some monster that took advantage of me," Harry begins, visibly seething at the implication. "That isn't what happened at all! Fenrir can be a stubborn ass sometimes, but he would never do something like that. He isn't some evil beast that needs to be hunted down with, with . . . torches and pitchforks or something!"

The wizard can't help the tremor of fear that wracks his body as he thinks about what could possibly happen to Fenrir from the pure conjecture masquerading as journalism. After all, it is only in recent years that the man has attempted to make amends for the crimes he committed in his past. There are still plenty in the wizarding community that wouldn't bat an eyelash if Fenrir was locked away in Askaban for the rest of his days. 

Contemplating what could happen to his budding family, Harry is unprepared for the multitude of emotions that bombards his thoughts. He may be currently pissed off at the man, but Harry still has strong feelings for his mate and father of his baby. And as much as he'd like to blame it completely on his over-sensitized hormones and fluctuating moods, the wizard knows his panic is from his own insecurities. After all, what if the public backlash from their exposed relationship only highlights to Fenrir why the two of them shouldn't be together? What if the werewolf decides that being with Harry just isn't worth it?

Were the last few weeks of Fenrir's standoffish and distant behaviour really just because of this MACUSA assignment in Alaska? 

Now, Harry is aware enough to know that he overreacted a bit to Fenrir's omission. After all, he knows better than anyone how frustratingly-inconsiderate the Ministry can be with one's personal obligations. Harry is a reasonable person, even being seven months pregnant. 

However, the young wizard has always been a bit sensitive to a lack of control over his own life. And the way that Fenrir had barked orders at him at the gala had instantly transported him back to a time where he had no power over his own existence. Naturally, the young wizard got defensive. Harry maintains that he was justified in his anger, after all his mate had promised him that they would stay in the U.K. until AFTER their son was born—it was the one thing that Harry had asked. And still, Fenrir had decided to not even discuss this change of plan with him, choosing to hide it until Merlin knows when. Fenrir hadn't even been the one to tell him this news, Harry had to be informed of this sudden move to Alaska from the Minister of Magic, by accident!

Still, the young Head Auror isn't naive. He knows how the bureaucrats at the Ministry always seem to have the rather nasty habit of reneging and re-negotiating deals as they see fit. Especially in regards to those they view more like "assets" instead of actual people. It is a policy that both Harry and Hermione fought against on a regular basis. And after he finally ascertained the full details of Fenrir's sudden MACUSA assignment from Kingsley, Harry had been positively livid on his mate's behalf at how quickly the Ministry's jumped at the chance to keep Fenrir under their control.

It had taken a rather impressive amount of willpower to stop himself from personally giving every single member of the Ministry of Magic a piece of his mind.

Instead, Harry's focus is set on throwing his weight around as Head Auror. One does not spend the last few years around the manipulations of the Wizarding politicians without picking up a few things along the way.

However, the Head Auror must tackle one issue at a time. 

"Harry, you're working yourself up over nothing. This is just an article, nothing more. The Daily Prophet is just trying to sell newspapers with sensationalism," offers Hermione, resting a comforting hand on her friend's trembling shoulders. Her words draw Harry back to the conversation at hand. "You need to calm down, it's not good to stress yourself out in your condition."

"But there's truth to this, Hermione!" argues the Head Auror, pointing at the article. "We all know that some of the ministers would do it, the ones that still distrust Fenrir for what he did during the war. They'd take away our baby the second he's born and then lock Fenrir up in Azkaban! I know it and you know it! Don't pretend like this couldn't happen!"

As Harry starts going off, his hands protectively cover his now-noticeable baby bump. Since he and Fenrir outed themselves as an expecting couple, the wizard has stopped using glamour charms to hide their growing child. Watching her friend retreat inward, Hermione turns to Minister Kingsley with a pleading look on her face.

"Minister, please assure Harry that the Ministry of Magic cannot actually take his baby away. The last thing he needs is to work himself into a fit."

At the request, Kingsley looks away from Hermione's gaze with an unreadable look on his dark features.

"Minster, they can't take Harry's baby away, can they?" presses the witch, a bit unnerved by the silence coming from the man before them.

Unbeknownst to the other occupants in his office, the promise that Shacklebolt made to Fenrir a few months ago in the exact same room comes right to the forefront of the elder man's mind. The Minster of Magic is more than aware that if the wizards they represent demand it, the Ministry could be given the power to legally separate Harry and Fenrir. However, he will make certain that Harry will remain with his child, no matter what. Kingsley has already looked up any course of action the Ministry could possibly take to forcibly remove the baby from Harry's custody as a precaution. And thankfully, the new laws protecting magical creatures and their families(some of which were drafted by Hermione herself) are already working in the young wizard's favor.

"Not without good reason and only after they've launched a thorough, Ministry-approved investigation," admits Kingsley finally, before turning to the panicking auror. "Harry, I promise you that your baby will not be taken from you. However, I can't say that there aren't some people that won't do their damnedest to try."

"With all due respect Minister Kingsley, this isn't going to be your decision. How many times has Wizengamot done whatever they seem fit, with or without Ministry approval? Even if the trial was preposterous? But honestly, I don't care what happens or what these bigotted wizards of the M.C.P.A. try to do, **_no one_** is taking my baby! That's fina—AAHH!"

A sharp pain in Harry's side makes him stop his declaration mid-sentence. Curling into himself, the wizard starts taking deep breaths as his hand starts to rub small circles over his side where the pain seems to be radiating from. Immediately everyone in the room is on their feet as they make their way over to the pregnant auror.

"Harry, what's wrong?!" asks Ron, his widened eyes instantly sweeping over his friend's form.

"I-it's nothing. I've had these pains before. It'll—ah!—pass," winces out Harry between the painful cramps wracking his abdomen.

"This has happened before?! Did you tell Healer Merriweather about this?"

Avoiding the concerned yet chastising gaze of the Minister of Magic, Harry stretches back on the couch. His eyes scrunch shut as another wave of pain seems to ripple through his body.

"N-no, it's just cram—OW!"

"That's it, we're going to St. Mungo's right now," declares the Hermione, before turning to her husband. "Ron, you help Harry, I'll get his things together."

"Got it, 'Mione."

 

* * *

 

The denizens of Hogsmeade collectively shiver as a piercing howl rips through the still night air. All the residents know that the howl belongs to their neighboring werewolf, so they keep their distance far from the outlying forests. Yet, the resounding loneliness that taints the ominous call has all of Hogsmeade wondering about the cause of the wolf's pain.

Ending his howling, Fenrir, now fully-shifted into his impressive werewolf form, continues to trudge through the fresh fallen snow of the forest. The canine, tired from his hunt, listlessly makes his way back to the familiar cottage that stands alone—a dark contrast to the snow-covered woods around it. Entering through the open door, the wolf whines at the missing scent and presence of his pregnant mate.

Harry would usually be waiting up for the werewolf after his monthly transformations, a soft smile on his features as Fenrir would make his way into their bed. It had been soothing to the alpha to know that his own presence offered the security that Harry needed to find rest. And in a purely primal, and perhaps the most honest way, the werewolf knew true peace when curled protectively around his pregnant mate underneath the full moon.

Then again, the ear scratches that Harry gave him hadn't hurt either.

But since their "lover's tiff" at the Ministry of Magic gala, Fenrir has not seen or heard anything from Harry. Not that he would ever admit it, but the werewolf finds himself longing for the sight of dark unruly hair and deep green eyes.

Now, the wolf desperately sniffs about the empty cottage, searching for any lingering trail that will lead to Harry. Fenrir's wolf mind can't understand why his mate, heavy with their unborn cub, isn't here, under his watch. Following his nose, the large canine finds a red and gold scarf that has made it's way underneath the couch. With a tug, the scarf easily comes out from it's hiding place. The wool fabric seems to have trapped the scent of Harry better than any other fabric in their shared home. And though the cottage still has lingering traces of the wizard, Fenrir is unable to find any trail of his mate's scent to track to lead to his whereabouts. He growls in frustration at this conclusion before flopping onto the bed in defeat, the scarf still in his mouth. The wolf's only consolation, is to bury his nose into the last bastion of Harry's scent as he tries to get some sleep.

The alpha wolf lets out a rather pitiful whine as he lays his head down.

When Fenrir awakens the next morning, he is surprised to find himself wrapped up in Harry's scarf. The wizard's trademark accessory makes a smirk cross his features as the werewolf remembers the last time Harry had worn it—long story short, it had led to a rather intense session of mind-blowing sex before the fireplace. However, the fond memory fades once Fenrir remembers that his mate is not there. Guilt once again settles on his mind as the man intrinsically knows that the only reason that Harry isn't there in their bed is his own doing. Grumbling to himself, Fenrir rolls over and attempts to return to sleep.

The man's rest is short-lived as he is awoken by the sound of a soft, incessant coo. Turning over, sharp blue eyes land on the form of a large barn owl sitting on the end of the bed. The bird no doubt flew in from one of the open windows of the cottage. Large gold eyes stare expectantly at the imposing form of Fenrir Greyback, completely unafraid of the predator before her.

"Get the fuck out of here," growls out the werewolf, raking a hand through his grey-streaked hair.

Ignoring the man's temperament, the snow white bird simply nudges over the letter that she has been sent to deliver. The owl then hoots again to regain the man's attention. Eyeing the parchment envelope with his name hastily scribbled onto it, Fenrir's gaze narrows into a glare.

"If this is a Howler, you're gonna be my breakfast, bird."

The owl simply cocks her head in curiosity at the werewolf. Snatching up the letter, the man rips it open. Thankfully, it isn't another Howler, but Fenrir is still blown away by the few sentences on the folded paper. In a quick scribble, the letter simply reads:

_Greyback,_

_Harry's in the hospital. You better get your furry ass over here the second you get this letter._

_\- Ron Weasley._

_P.S. Don't eat the owl, it's a loaner from St. Mungo's._

In a flash, Fenrir gets out of the bed, dislodging the barn owl who flies off the way she came. Throwing on his worn leather jacket and a pair of boots, the werewolf apparates immediately to St. Mungo's. Fenrir's sudden arrival is noticed, yet none of the medical staff make any move to hinder his business at the wizarding hospital. And after some quick directions from a thoroughly-intimidated apprentice Healer, the imposing man finds Hermione and Ron outside of a private hospital room talking to Healer Merriweather. The normally cheerful medi-witch has a serious expression on her face as she speaks to the young couple before her.

". . . All in all, Mr. Potter should be okay. He'll just have to take it easy for a while."

"What happened to Harry?"

Looking to the man, Healer Merriweather and Hermione are both surprised by Fenrir's sudden appearance. Ron simply regards him, looking the man square in the eye.

"Harry was having some pains so we brought him here to make sure that everything's okay," explains the redhead. "He's resting right now, so you'll have to wait to see him."

"Fuck that. My mate is hurt. Do you really want to stand in my way, Weasley?"

Fenrir Greyback is daunting on a normal basis, so when he is properly agitated it is quite an imposing sight. Every muscle in the werewolf's body tenses as his expression hardens. The man's eyes intensify into a piercing stare that strips people bare, it is downright unnerving. However, Ron manages to hold his ground, matching the glare of Fenrir Greyback with the one he inherited from Molly Weasley.

"I will if I have to, Greyback. Harry's my best mate, you're not the only one that cares about him and the baby, you know. I sent that owl because, for a reason beyond my understanding, he needs you to be here with him. Don't make me regret it."

For a moment, complete silence passes between the two men. Then out of nowhere, the werewolf's eyebrow arches as he forms a new level of respect for Ronald Bilius Weasley.

"I get it. Thanks for taking care of them for me," offers Fenrir, thoroughly surprising the trio outside Harry's room.

However, the alpha werewolf ignores their shocked reactions as he strides into the private hospital room. Once the door opens, Fenrir finds Harry lying on his side. A sense of relief passes through him as his eyes finally rest on his young mate. Unfortunately, it is quickly replaced with concern as his gaze sweeps over the slim figure for any injury. The wizard appears to be almost cocooned in a massive amount of pillows to cushion his body as he rests in the hospital bed. Lying there, his back to the door and clothed in the thin hospital gown, Harry looks so small and almost fragile. The werewolf freezes as the faint scent of tears reaches his nose. With a deep breath, Fenrir steels himself for whatever it is that has afflicted his pregnant wizard.

"Hey Pup."

At the familiar rumble of his mate's voice, Harry can't hold back the relieved smile that crosses his face. The wizard was sure that their public argument would have kept the werewolf far away from him. Although, remembering that he is still upset with Fenrir, Harry schools his features. His hands lift up his trademark glasses in order to quickly wipe away the lingering tears. Once Harry's satisfied that he is somewhat composed, the auror twists his neck to look over his shoulder.

"Fenrir?" whispers Harry, taking in the sight of the rugged man that he chose to spend his life with. "How did you know I was here?"

The second that the green eyes(slightly red from crying) settle on the werewolf, Fenrir has to forcibly stop himself from taking the wizard into his arms. If anyone else had put that vulnerable expression on his mate's face, the alpha wolf is sure that he would have ripped the bastard to shreds. He settles for simply crossing the room so that he can speak to the auror without such a distance between them.

"Your friend sent an owl," mutters Fenrir, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I came as soon as I got it."

"Leave it to Hermione."

"No, it was the other one."

" _Ron_ told you I was here?" asks Harry incredulously.

"Apparently, he thought I should be here."

A moment of tense silence passes between the two of them at the implied reprimand. It is interrupted when Fenrir takes a step closer.

"What happened, pup?"

At the question, Harry doesn't turn his body to face the man. However his shoulders tense up.

"I'll be fine," whispers out the auror. "I had some cramps again, they were worse this time."

"And the cub? Is he alright?"

Harry takes a deep breath, but says nothing as he bites his lower lip. Sensing that something is wrong, Fenrir's gaze stays on the wizard.

"Harry—"

"There is no more cub!," blurts out the wizard, his voice raw from crying.

At the words, Fenrir stops in his tracks. Frozen by shock, the werewolf can barely get his thoughts in order.

"What do you mea—"

"I-It was a high-risk pregnancy already," explains the wizard as his eyes avoid Fenrir's stare. Harry pulls the sheets tighter around himself as he speaks. "Healer Merriweather said that it was a miracle that I managed to carry him this far."

The scent of fresh tears fuels the man to take yet another step closer. Fenrir is unsure how to react to this revelation. After all, the man never excelled at anything having to do with emotions, never mind comforting someone else. His inner wolf wants to howl in sadness at the loss of their unborn cub yet he is aching to curl around his distraught mate. He wants nothing more than to soothe Harry with his presence. But considering the fragile state of their relationship at the moment, Fenrir isn't sure if his efforts would even be welcomed.

"Since we've been apart the last few days, I-I've been thinking. Mostly about us," begins Harry, his unsteady voice instantly gains the werewolf's attention. "The baby was the only good reason that we were together. If I hadn't gotten pregnant, I wouldn't have went to see you in Hogsmeade and we wouldn't have become mates. I mean, it was spectacular, but we were fooling ourselves. A wizard and a werewolf is difficult enough, but the two of us, Harry Potter and Fenrir Greyback? It wasn't the brightest idea to start a relationship, on either of our parts."

The werewolf gets anxious the more he listens to the words pouring out of the wizard's mouth.

"I don't believe that," starts Fenrir. "And you can say whatever shite you like, but I know you don't believe that either."

For a second, Harry seems to lose his resolve as piercing blue eyes stare into his own viridian ones. Looking away, the wizard's gaze shifts to his hands.

"We aren't meant to be together, that's all. You and I are just too different. It won't work," the auror argues weakly, his hands gripping the thin hospital sheets in a vice grip. "Just go back to your pack, Fenrir."

"I'm not goin' anywhere. You are my mate, Harry! _**Mine!**_ That means I take care of you. "

The alpha can tell that his conviction has Harry's determination wavering. And looking into his mate's eyes, Fenrir can also tell that Harry is at war with himself. Part of the wizard wants to let the werewolf take care of him and forget everything that's happened in the last few days. However, another part of the wizard knows that as tempting as that option is, it won't solve anything between them.

Harry's eyes turn down as he seems to come to his conclusion, his hands twisting uncomfortably in the thin hospital sheets.

"Just get out, Fenrir."

The defeated tone of the wizard's voice isn't one that the werewolf is used to from the former Gryffindor. It is exhausted, like Harry, "The Boy Who Lived" and the "Saviour of the Wizarding World", has given up on something. Then and there, Fenrir instantly decides that he doesn't like it. Not one bit.

"No, I ain't leavin'."

"Get out or I'll make you get out, Fenrir!" shouts the wizard, finally turning his head to once again lock gazes with the werewolf. "I-I mean it!"

At that outburst, the two men lock eyes, equally stubborn and at an impasse—although Harry looks as if he's about to cry any minute now. Whatever is it that is holding the wizard together is threatening to break apart. Seeing that look, and knowing that he is the cause of it, makes something long-ignored in the werewolf cave in to his mate's plea.

"You want me to leave that badly, eh?"

" . . . Please?"

Taking a deep breath, Fenrir releases Harry from his intense gaze.

"Alright, I'll leave. But don't go thinkin' that you've gotten rid of me completely, pup. I'll be back."

"I know," replies Harry, his deep forest eyes softening— a silent thank you to Fenrir for granting his request.

Leaving Harry to his rest, the man steps out of the private hospital suite. The click of the hospital room door adds a finality to their conversation that makes Fenrir uneasy. Ron and Hermione instantly focus on his reappearance, curious of what transpired between the two mates. Ron is the first to reach the still-shocked Fenrir.

"Greyback, what happened?"

"Nothin', Harry needs his rest is all," answers the werewolf. "He's takin' everythin' pretty well, considerin'."

Thinking over the conversation, Fenrir feels a fresh surge of guilt hit him.

The alpha wolf misses the days that the meddlesome emotion remained dormant.

"Shite! I should've protected him and our cub better!" grumbles out Fenrir as he runs a hand through his grey-streaked hair. "I fuckin' deserve whatever the pup wants to dish out at me! I let him and our cub down."

"I'm sure that Harry didn't mean whatever he said," provides Hermione, thrown off by the man's self-depreciating words. "He's just really delicate right now and prone to lashing out emotionally, his hormones are still going to be out of sorts for a while. Healer Merriweather said that all Harry has to do is take it easy."

"Yeah, I got that," grumbles out Fenrir as he turns to walk away.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

At Ron's question, Fenrir stops in his tracks. He doesn't turn back around to face them.

"Harry asked me to leave, so I'm goin'. I'm not gonna be responsible for upsettin' him further. I'll be back though."

As the man leaves the wing, Ron and Hermione stare after him, confused by the werewolf's actions. Then again, Fenrir is confused by his own actions as well. For once, the alpha wolf doesn't know what to do to correct the situation. There is no enemy for him to hunt down and tear to shreds. There's no way to bring back their son—the child that Fenrir had never planned on having, yet he has been looking forward to holding in his arms for the past seven months. And while the notorious werewolf is heartbroken over his lost cub, what eats away at him the most is the broken look that was on Harry's face. The pure dejection was completely at odds with the fierce determination that normally hallmarked Harry Potter.

All in all, a fine mate Fenrir Greyback is turning out to be.

Later that day, Fenrir returns to the halls of the wizarding hospital with a semblance of a plan. The large man has spent most of that afternoon clearing out the cottage of anything associated with their lost baby. Fenrir didn't want anything upsetting the young wizard when he took him home from St. Mungo's. His only concern is to do his very best to make up for what he had put Harry through these past few weeks.

Healer Merriweather happens to be passing by Harry's recovery room when Fenrir approaches. The man strides right over, uncaring for the stack of case files in her hands. And in lieu of a greeting, he nods in acknowledgement of her time.

"May I ask what brings you in today, Mr. Greyback?" begins the witch. "If you had any questions for me, you didn't have to come all the way down here."

"No, I'm just here to take the pup home. Is Harry ready yet or do I need to sign somethin'?"

A look of genuine surprise crosses over the woman's face, followed by honest confusion. Her permanent smile falters a bit as she makes a mental connection. Clearing her throat, Healer Merriweather subconsciously takes a step back from the imposing werewolf.

"But Mr. Potter left earlier this afternoon after his final test results came back. I processed the paperwork myself."

 

* * *

 

Luna Lovegood has always been what many wizards would call a peculiar witch. It is a badge that the blonde woman wears proudly, in her own irreverent way. And in the years since the Second Great Wizarding War, Luna has become a world-renown wizarding naturalist. Her research and pursuit of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack has led her to Ireland, the land of leprechauns, banshees, and other magical creatures of Celtic legend.

The witch rents a quaint cottage that lies in the valley of sprawling emerald green hillsides. It is quite picturesque, especially in the early morning when the mists cast a mystical aura on the land. She is friendly with the local muggle townsfolk, yet keeps to herself with few visitors. The only regular contact that Luna has with the magical world is through the occasional owl that flies in through her kitchen window.

Which, is why the pale witch is surprised to find a rather depressed looking Harry Potter sitting on her front porch. The Head Auror simply fiddles with the ends of his robes, not noticing that he has been discovered.

"Harry?! What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

Looking up at his friend, Harry reveals his tear-filled eyes.

"Luna, I'm sorry. I should've sent an owl, first. But I just had to leave."

Concern lights the witch's face as she hears the broken quality of the auror's voice. Even in the final years of the war, Harry never sounded as depressed as he did now.

"It's alright. You're always more than welcome to visit me Harry. We're friends. What's wrong?"

"I just needed to get as far away from The Daily Prophet, from the Ministry, and even from Fenrir as I could get."

"Ah, your mate," confirms Luna, recalling the contents of the many letters that Harry has sent her over the past few months. "What did he do?"

"Nothing like the Prophet has accused him of, that's for sure," Harry insists as he runs a hand through his dark, unruly hair. "It's just that, I need to time to properly think things over. And I can't think properly when I'm with him."

"What do you need to think about?"

"Our future, both as mates and as parents. Fenrir has become so important to me, yet the only reason we're even together is because I got pregnant. It's not like it makes sense for the two of us to be a couple. As much as it hurts to admit, I think he's just holding on to me because he thinks he should, out of his own sense of pride or some weird obligation. He sees me as someone he has to take care of, not like a partner."

"Oh Harry, that can't be true. I mean, in your letters you've never sounded happier."

"That's just it Luna. I was happy. But I was happy because I was living in a dream world. A world where I could just be Harry, live my life, and not care what other people thought. But I don't get to have that. Ever since I met Fenrir in that pub, I've been living out a fantasy. I guess I'm just waking up from it now. As much as neither of us want to care, our identities matter. It matters that I'm a famous wizard and it matters that Fenrir is an infamous werewolf. The article in The Daily Prophet and the backlash from it just proves that point."

Luna is a bit confused by Harry's ramblings, yet she can recognize a cry for help when she hears one. Placing a hand on the wizard's shoulder she offers him a comforting smile.

"Come on inside Harry. It's getting cold out here. I have some lovely potato soup that I can heat up for you. Everything looks better after you've eaten, although I suppose it depends on what you eat. I mean if it was something disgusting than I'm sure that it would only make your mood worse."

At Luna's nonsensical, yet familair rambling, Harry can't help but smile.

"Alright. Err, can I have a hand?"

Smiling down at her friend, Luna beams.

"Of course."

With the offered hand, Harry pulls himself up. The bulge of his pregnant stomach makes it a bit harder than it used to be to stand. But the wizard manages, with help from Luna, and follows the witch into her small house.

 

* * *

 

It has been three weeks since Fenrir last saw Harry.

The werewolf, finished his contract with the Ministry of Magic, had returned to his pack to regroup. Then, almost immediately, he left to start his assignment in Alaska leaving Derrick and Scarlett to look after things. Despite his initial rage at the additional task, it has actually been a blessing in disguise for the alpha wolf. At least he no longer has to torture himself with living in the cottage he shared with his green-eyed wizard(the place they planned to raise their son) or be around the growing cubs of his own pack.

Covering up his emotions, Fenrir focuses on tracking down the rogue werewolf terrorizing the local muggles. The alpha wolf is accompanied only by his brother, Mason. Then again, the other alpha wolf is the only one willing to accompany a pissed-off Fenrir.

In the Alaskan wilderness, the two werewolves move through the dense forests in weighted silence. The stark white of the snow is only punctuated by the dark trunks of barren trees. A cold breeze blows about, distorting the scent of the rogue wolf that the two brothers are currently tracking. Their progress is slow, yet they are steadily gaining on the trail of their prey. Fenrir has been lagging behind, lost in his internal brooding as the slimmer alpha takes the lead. And after a few hours of this, Mason is the first to break the heavy silence with an annoyed growl.

"So, is this how you're gonna be for the foreseeable future, Fenrir?"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Mason."

"By the moon above, who would've thought the great Alpha Fenrir Greyback would be reduced to a fuckin' shell of himself by some wizard?" comments the blonde as he shakes his head. "It's _patheti—OOF!_ "

Mason is suddenly tackled by Fenrir, the larger man slamming his body to the frozen ground with a spray of powdery snow. After some rolling around, Fenrir manages to pin his brother and straddles the leaner man. The irritated werewolf growls menacingly low in his throat as he glares down at the other alpha.

"You don't know shite about me or my mate, you bastard!"

Mason scoffs at that, and shoots his brother a look of disgust.

"I know that instead of mopin' around like some kicked pup you should go find your precious wizard. If you miss him so fuckin' much, go reclaim him."

At the words, Fenrir's anger eases slightly. His blind rage morphs into guilt and he loosens his grip on his brother.

"He made is perfectly clear that he doesn't want to see me. The pup left and I don't blame him. I broke our deal without even tellin' him and I've practically ignored him these last few weeks because of the thrice-damned Ministry. And worst still, we lost our cub. Least I can do right now is respect his space."

For an immeasurable stretch of time, both men are silent as they think of the lost cub. No werewolf, no matter how strong, handled the passing of unborn cubs well.

"You lost your son, I'm sorry about that," replies Mason, his voice matching Fenrir's with sadness as he thinks about the recent turn of events. "I was kinda lookin' forward to meetin' my nephew. Now, I'm not saying that the two of you don't need time to grieve. But, the wizard is still your mate, he still has _your_ mark. Find him and make it right. Get through this together. That's what mates are for, right? Emotional support and all that bullshit?"

An incredulous look appears on Fenrir's face as he looks down at his brother.

"I thought you didn't like wizards."

"I still don't, for the most part. But that mate of yours, he grew on me. Besides, with Harry around, you were somewhat tolerable, almost decent company even. Now, will you get your heavy ass offa me! We still got a rogue werewolf to find."

"Yeah, yeah," agrees the older wolf as he gets off, much to Mason's relief. "Let's finish this, I have a pack to get back to."

"And then a mate to locate, right?"

". . . Yeah."

With that resolution, the two wolves restart their trek through the snow covered forests. Now that the tension between them has eased up a bit, Fenrir and Mason travel through the woods as a cohesive unit. In fact, it takes little time before they close the distance between them and the rogue wolf they have been hunting for most of the day.

 

* * *

 

Harry yawns widely from his seat at the round wooden table in Luna's kitchen. The Irish sun shines through an open window as the sounds of chirping birds waft through. The witch herself is busy preparing a potion on the stove as the wizard watches. Rubbing a hand over his swollen stomach, a sudden firm kick to his hand, takes Harry by surprise.

"Whoa! You're active today, little guy. That one actually hurt."

"The baby's moving again?" Luna asks with an excited smile. Dropping what she's doing, her hand touches her friend's belly. "Wow, he's really kicking."

"Yes, he's always active in the morning and late at night. During full moons, he's completely restless," Harry begins, already sounding like a proud parent. "That he gets from Fe—his father."

Noticing Harry's slight hesitation to say Fenrir's name, Luna knows that it is time to start the conversation that the two friends have been avoiding for the last few weeks.

"You still haven't told me why you left him."

"I don't really want to talk about it, Luna."

"As much as I enjoy having you visit, you can't hide out here forever. Fenrir must be looking everywhere for you and I'm sure Ron and Hermione are worried. Not to mention the rest of the wizarding world.  It's not right to let people that really care about you worry like this."

At the mention of his werewolf's name and Luna's very valid point, Harry can't stave off the crushing guilt that hits him. He knows that he's in the wrong. After all, Harry had just left without telling his mate, nevermind his best friends and family, where he went. 

Not to mention, the unforgivable lie that Harry had told the man, even if it was done to protect his son as well as the alpha wolf himself. 

"I know, and I'm not planning to stay here forever. I still have a job at the Ministry to do and I have some things to get in order. After all, there's some questionable policies at the Ministry that need to be removed. Fenrir shouldn't have been forced into this indentured servitude after he fulfilled his end of the Ministry's agreement. They're taking advantage of what could be a crucial partnership. It's disgusting."

"Harry, I agree with you, but you are still avoiding the question."

At the silence that greets her, the witch sighs wistfully before she hands Harry a glass of the potion she has been brewing. It is a pale green color yet has a scent that reminds the wizard of cinnamon.

"Here, the nutrient potion is ready. Drink up."

"Thanks, Luna. You didn't have to make this for me."

"I made it for my nephew in there. Just because you refuse to take proper care of yourself doesn't mean that he has to suffer, Auntie Luna won't allow it. Your son needs his father, and so do you."

Harry takes a deep sigh as he thinks over Luna's words. The witch has always had a peculiar intelligence that has always managed to catch Harry by complete surprise. Taking a sip of the potion, surprised by the slight spiciness of it, the wizard turns to face the concerned, yet expectant eyes of Luna Lovegood.

"I left Fenrir, before he left me, alright? I mean, it was only a matter of time really, and I don't think that I could handle being abandoned—not when I had our child to consider. Besides, I was holding him back. Fenrir isn't the type of man that should be tied down with a wizard for a mate and a baby on the way. For Merlin's sake, he's practically the Lord of all werewolves! He should be free with his pack. That's where his heart is anyway."

"Are you sure of that?" asks Luna, tilting her head innocently.

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure of anything with Fenrir."

"But Harry, you love him. You're sure of that at least, right?"

At the statement, Harry's hand absently starts to rub his belly. Feeling his and Fenrir's child move in response, shifting within him, makes Harry smile. The wizard has always wanted to have the family that he never had as a child, to be surrounded by people he loved and be loved in return. And though he never thought that he'd create it with the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, he has never been happier. The man may be brash, intimidating, and a bit rough around the edges, however Fenrir has always been honest with Harry. He has always treated the wizard like a person, with flaws and desires, not like a symbol. Around the werewolf, he can just be Harry, he doesn't have to have all the answers and can depend on someone else for a change. The Head Auror has constantly found himself relaxing around Fenrir in a way he only felt comfortable doing around Ron and Hermione.

Harry has known for quite some time that he has become completely infatuated with Fenrir, in a way he never felt about Cho Chang or even Ginny Weasley. And while it scared him a bit at first, to feel something so deeply for one person, Harry has accepted his feelings. The wizard wants to be with the werewolf, but he knows that there are serious issues between the two of them. And while Harry is open to working through those issues, he isn't so sure that his other half is.

"Love isn't always enough to keep people together, Luna," Harry replies after a while. "We're just too different, that's all. He'll be happier without us."

"Harry, you can't be serious. Of course love is enough to keep two people together. That is the point, isn't it? And how could you possibly think that Fenrir would be happier without his mate and child?"

"You weren't there, Luna. Fenrir hasn't been the same mate he was when we first got together. He wouldn't talk to me, he wouldn't share with me, he barely touched me, and worst of all he went and made a major decision about my life, our child's life, without consulting me. Fenrir has never hid anything from me before, even the most gruesome acts he's done in his past. So, I trusted that he wouldn't keep things from me. I've already spent too much of life being controlled by people who had my best interests at heart or for the greater good. I'm not doing that again. Not for anyone."

"No one's asking you to, Harry," replies Luna tentatively. 

"I hate when I'm a burden to people," begins Harry after a moment of silence. "It's the one thing the Dursleys made sure I was always aware of, how much of an inconvenience I, their own flesh and blood, was to them. And though he has never said it, I know that Fenrir feels obligated to us, to our baby. I know that he never planned to start a family while still under the Ministry's control, let alone with me. So, I gave him an out, where he doesn't have to feel guilty if he left. It killed me to do it, Luna, _Merlin_ it did, but I had to. I'm not going to be the reason someone else I care about sacrifices their life again. It's time I sacrificed something for someone else's happiness. Fenrir will have the life he always wanted, free and happy with his pack. He can choose to be a part of our son's life, but I won't let him feel like he's obligated to."

At those words, Harry looks down at his swollen belly that houses the embodiment of his feelings for the werewolf. Watching his gaze shift, Luna softens her expression.

"Fenrir Greyback is the father of your baby, that is never going to change, Harry. You are going to have to face him eventually. Granted, Fenrir is rather intimidating, but you're a Gryffindor, aren't you? You don't run from anything, right? Especially not from the man that you love. At the very least, for your baby, you have to find out if there is still anything between you two. You have to let him know what you're thinking and how you're feeling. Yell at him if you wish, but give Fenrir a chance to make his own choices instead of deciding everything on your own. Because if you don't, if you make assumptions, you'll be doing the exact same thing that other people have done to you."

For a moment, Harry is completely taken aback by the insight offered by the odd witch. The cottage is silent as Harry fully contemplates what Luna has said.

"Thank you, Luna."

"For what?" the blonde woman asks, honestly confused.

"For reminding me why you're such a good friend."

At that, the two friends share a smile.

"I need to stop hiding and face him," Harry affirms. "However, I shouldn't do it empty handed."

Luna is thrown off a bit by that last bit, however she shrugs it off.

"Alright, but you can't do that on an empty stomach. So, what would you like for breakfast, Harry? It's about time I feed you."

"I'm up for anything that has chocolate and meat," the pregnant wizard replies, earning a wide eyed stare from Luna. "It's all this baby wants to eat, apparently."

For a second, Harry is afraid that the witch will find his pregnancy craving odd, even by her standards. However, he is surprised when Luna simply pulls out a box of chocolate frogs and then reaches into the fridge for some wrapped meat to cook.

"I've always wanted to try chocolate-covered breakfast meats, but no one else has wanted to eat it!" exclaims the blonde witch as she reaches for a cooking pan. "Now do you prefer bacon or sausages?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this installment, it was the hardest to write emotionally. I wanted to make sure that Harry's insecurities were properly fleshed out(please try not to judge Harry too harshly!). 
> 
> While I don't agree personally with what Harry did, I ask that you try to understand his thinking. From his point of view, he was only trying to protect his baby and himself. In my headcanon, I think that Harry has some familial trust issues, so I wanted to touch on this in this chapter. Considering that his parents, specifically his own mother, literally died protecting him I imagine that he also has this heightened complex that he needs to do whatever possible to protect his own child from any possible threat. So, while he doesn't fear physical harm, he is more concerned about emotional damage(his abusive relationship with the Dursleys, his parental figures and friends dying, being the savior of the wizarding world, etc).
> 
> Anyways, stay tuned for the next chapter!(Fenrir and Harry both get their shit together, I don't like to stew in the angst for too long)
> 
> Later,  
> Renka


	10. Returning Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the kudos and comments, I truly appreciate every one! 
> 
> In response to the last chapter, I only ask that you withhold judgement on Harry and his actions, specifically for telling Fenrir that he had a miscarriage. Now, was it the right thing for Harry to do? No, of course not, but people aren't perfect and logical 100% of the time(Especially when they are in a highly-emotional state of mind such as a high-profile pregnancy). However, if you still disagree with Harry's actions after the end of this story, I understand. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. And just because I wrote this story adaptation, it doesn't mean I agree with everything that occurs within it. I just like to make sure the characters that I'm borrowing are well-rounded and flawed individuals.
> 
> That being said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Warnings: Blood and a little gore(but only in reference to hunting), werewolfy behaviour, massive repression and denial.

The Russian Taiga is an unforgiving environment as the beginnings of winter steadily creep their way onto the land. Impossibly tall pine trees cluster together to form thick forests. Bone-chilling gusts of wind whip through the woods and high grasses. The dark, churning waters of a strong river cut through the open flat land as snowcapped mountains loom in the distance.

The dense, unspoiled wilderness of the taiga is also a showcase of pure, natural beauty.

However, literally getting lost in the stunning beauty of the land often equates to a death sentence for the inexperienced explorer. 

But for a man, _a werewolf_ , like Fenrir Greyback, the untamed lands are about as dangerous as a fenced-in backyard. The open wilderness of his pack lands are his element, one of the few places where the alpha werewolf truly feels alive.  

As Fenrir takes in the familiar landscape of his territory, the crisp bite of late autumn air nips him almost affectionately. It finally catches up to the wolf just how long it has been since he has returned to his pack lands. The sprawling wilderness before him, devoid of all human influence(both muggle and wizard alike), has the wolf within Fenrir itching to run his territory and reacquaint himself with every square inch. Yet, as much as he has missed the taiga, his piercing blue eyes can't help but dull a bit. Fenrir had hoped that when he finally returned to his pack, it would be with his mate and newborn cub at his side.

Harry would have loved it. After all, the Russian Taiga is home to some rather magical creatures besides werewolves.

Taking a deep breath, in a futile attempt to clear his mind of personal issues, Fenrir steels his expression. It is not the time to lose himself in guilt and regret, he has a pack to run. As he continues his trek, the alpha is satisfied that he can still detect his own scent markers that outline his pack's territory. The air is fragrant with Siberian pine trees, the scent teasing his senses as he makes his way through the thick foliage. Nearing his pack's settlement, his eyes take notice of the claw marks that he himself has gouged into the rough bark of the evergreen trees. The deep grooves in the tough bark serve as a final warning to trespassers of what creatures inhabit these forests.

The tingle of magic that passes through his body as he passes through the powerful wards, welcomes Fenrir first. The wooden palisade that the alpha wolf himself helped to erect stands strong and surrounds the werewolf settlement. Thick tree trunks act as a natural barrier against the elements and any foolish enough to attack such a strong pack. Fenrir enters the rustic village with little fanfare, the alpha choosing to silently observe the state of his pack. It has been too long since he has been with them, yet the wolf is grounded by longing for his own mate as he watches his werewolves with their families. Shaking it off, he tunes into the comforting harmony of the pack as they prepare the communal dinner—a tradition that the alpha has insisted upon no matter how large the pack grows(after all, it reinforces the familial bonds that make the pack so strong). As he makes his way through the settlement, Fenrir is given a gamut of respectful greetings which he returns. And though the entire pack of werewolves can all sense something is wrong with their alpha, they also know that it is not their place to openly comment upon it.

"Fenrir, welcome home!"

At the enthusiastic greeting, the werewolf turns to see Scarlett approaching him with Derrick right behind her. His betas are both wearing welcoming smiles as they reach their alpha. To stave off their questions, Fenrir growls out some first.

"How have things been here? Any problems?"

"The pack is doing just great," reports Derrick. "Thanks to you, it practically runs itself, now. The crops have been harvested, dried, and stored with no issues. Espen is especially happy with the high yield this year. And, we're getting ready to start the hunts to fill the winter caches."

Giving a grunt in approval, with no follow-up questions or demand for details, Derrick and Scarlett raise an eyebrow in surprise. One of the things that Fenrir has always made a priority was storing enough food for the pack to survive the harsh Russian winters. It is crucial to their survival, and so is a duty their alpha normally oversees personally.

"Yeah, and everyone's really excited to meet Harry and the cub," Scarlett begins, grasping for something to bring Fenrir out of his mood. "When are they coming? I've been talking him up and everyone wants to see the wizard that has captured our alpha's attention."

"Not to mention that he is Harry Potter," Derrick chimes in.

"Well, that too."

"They aren't comin'," interrupts Fenrir, his cold tone instantly cutting through his betas' excitement.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

Seeing the crestfallen look on the redhead's face, Fenrir runs a hand through his own thick hair. This is the one thing that he's been dreading the entire trip. Having to explain to his pack exactly how he failed his own mate and cub. And even with the time to think since parting ways with his brother, the alpha still isn't ready to divulge everything that has happened. Not yet.

"I fucked up with Harry, Scarlett," Fenrir offers as an brusque explanation. "I ain't in the mood to talk about it. But, I will figure out how the hell to fix it."

The two beta wolves are thrown off by the peek inside Fenrir's thoughts. The intimidating man has never been one to discuss feelings, at least not without an incessant amount of prodding and pleading(although an obscene amount of alcohol didn't hurt either). Yet, it is evident on the man's face, that something has happened in the last few weeks. Both Scarlett and Derrick are at a loss for words as they watch Fenrir walk off towards his quarters.

"I don't like this, Derrick. Fenrir would never leave Harry by himself, at least not willingly. Why isn't he here with us?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Scar. But whatever happened, we both know that Fenrir is not gonna talk about it until he's ready. Our alpha is a stubborn man."

"Well then, get him ready to talk about it," replies Scarlett with an encouraging shove. "And hurry up, nightfall will be soon."

"Have you always been this _insistent_?"

"Yes, that's why you love me."

"True," replies Derrick before pressing a kiss to his mate's fiery hair. "I'll pull Fenrir out of his mood if you get the rest of the pack ready. I'm sure they all know he's back by now."

"Deal."

The two beta wolves exchange smiles as they part ways. Scarlett heads towards the pack members that have gathered at the news of their alpha's return as Derrick heads after Fenrir, the man taking a quick detour to see Espen first.

In his cabin, Fenrir crouches down to arrange kindling in the stone fireplace. Once he gets a small spark of flames going, his eyes look about his lodgings. The quarters aren't very personal since the werewolf has only ever thought of it as a place to sleep. Simple, yet sturdy wooden furniture fills the open space as the growing fire provides most of the light. The only items in the cabin that Fenrir has any personal attachment to are some pelts of the wild animals he's killed with his own bare hands. The man isn't exactly an expert on interior design.

With his work alongside the Ministry over the last few years, Fenrir hasn't spent very long stretches of time with the pack. He has traveled the world visiting the other alphas and their packs under his protection as well as making damn sure that the Ministry kept up their end of the bargain. So, the alpha werewolf has been forced to run his own pack from afar, with Derrick and Scarlett acting as his proxies. It wasn't until Harry entered his life that Fenrir had any particular place with an emotional attachment. The quaint cottage outside of Hogsmeade that he shared with the famous wizard is the only true home that the werewolf has really ever known.

"You returned just in time."

Derrick's sudden entrance instantly drags Fenrir back from his wandering thoughts. He takes the time to feed a few logs to the growing flames before turning to face the other werewolf and reply to his statement.

"For what?"

"It's the full moon tonight, Fenrir. The Hunter's Moon, when we fill the cache with kills for the winter? It's not like you to forget that."

"I got things on my mind, Derrick," grumbles out the elder man as he wipes his hands off on a nearby rag.

"Yeah, I got that. I think the entire pack is aware of how distracted you are."

Walking further into the room, the beta wolf brings out an unlabeled glass bottle that he has been hiding behind his back. Going to one of the cabinets, Derrick pulls out two glasses. Unscrewing the cap, he steadily begins pouring out a pair of shots.

"So, I thought that we could discuss it over a drink. Espen has been saving this batch just for you. He says it's his finest yet."

"He says that about every batch," grumbles out Fenrir, unable to keep the fond annoyance out of his voice.

"Well, there's only one way to find out."

Fenrir raises an eyebrow in interest as he sees the bottle of handcrafted vodka in his friend's hand. Remembering the last time he tasted it, with Harry, the man smiles. The pup always was thoughtful, Fenrir couldn't think of the last time he did something so considerate for Harry. In fact, in the weeks leading up their fight, he had been an insensitive bastard. So focused on his responsibilities to his packs, as well as to the impending deadline with the Ministry of Magic, he had neglected Harry.

Thinking on that, Fenrir can't blame Harry for wanting to push him away. The werewolf only hopes that it isn't too late and that his mate won't push him away completely.

"You don't have to worry about me," begins Fenrir, coming out of his thoughts once again.

"Well, it's not just me, or Scarlett for that matter. The whole pack is concerned, we can all sense your unease and sadness, Alpha."

Taking the offered glass from his second in command, Fenrir takes a sip.

As he savors the smooth taste of the liquor, Fenrir thinks over what to say to that statement. Derrick only tends to use his title when he is genuinely concerned or when he's royally pissed off, and judging by the sincere worry on his face, it isn't the latter reason this time. It isn't like Fenrir to lie to the man across from him, but the alpha decides not to disclose the loss of their cub to his beta just yet. His instincts are insisting that he needs to talk with Harry once more before he voices the loss to his pack, assuming that the wizard would even let him.

"Harry is upset with me, so I'm giving him his space, is all," replies Fenrir, as he takes a seat. "I'm using the time apart to think things over and figure out exactly what I need to do to get my mate back. And as soon as I'm done here, I'm going to go claim him."

At those resolute words, both Fenrir and Derrick take a deep sip from their glasses. The men then savor the taste for a moment, the crackling fire filling the absence of conversation for a few minutes.

"You and Harry make an odd sort of sense."

At the statement, the alpha werewolf looks over his glass. Lifting an eyebrow, Fenrir wordlessly signals for Derrick to go on.

"Most people think that a werewolf and a wizard have nothing in common, but you and Harry are very similar. You both are impulsive to a fault and do things that would kill the rest of us. But for some reason, things always manage to work out for the both of you. Hell, Harry just might be the only person I know to take on more dangerous creatures than you have. You're both reckless, really. Yet, when it comes to people that you both care about, I've never seen such ferocity. You and Harry are two peas in the same odd pod."

"You aren't tellin' me anythin' I don't already know, Derrick. Why do you think I was so eager to put my claim on him?"

"Good. Glad to hear it." remarks the man, running a hand over his buzzed head. "To be perfectly honest, I can't think of anyone else that could handle being the mate of Alpha Fenrir Greyback other than Harry Potter. Your mutual stubbornness cancels each other out."

"That's probably true," agrees Fenrir with a small smirk.

"That being said, I do think it'd be a real shame if you two couldn't work whatever this is out. Scarlett told me that Harry once asked her how to be the best mate he could be for you. Not many wizards would even make that effort."

"The pup doesn't have to do anything. He's perfect the way he is."

Fenrir's statement, makes Derrick pause. Something in the elder man's voice has the beta wolf curious.

"Have you told Harry that?"

"He knows that," states Fenrir, finishing his drink.

"Are you sure? Maybe you need to remind him," tries Derrick, attempting to figure out exactly what happened to test his alpha's bond with his mate. "Even the most confident people need to be reassured from time to time. Especially when in a relationship."

"C'mon Derrick. The moon will be risin' soon."

With that deflection, the two wolves make their way out of the alpha's cabin and into the open square in the center of the pack village. Men, women, and children of all ages and races look to their alpha, flanked by his two betas, as he makes his way to the front. As Fenrir's sharp eyes regards his pack, he notices new cubs and some new faces have joined the ranks in his absence. The growing pride at his pack's healthiness and size makes it easier for the alpha to ignore the absence of the other two members that should be by his side.

"It is good to be home," begins Fenrir, his words already greeted with an excited hum. "My absence from the taiga has been long, but not without reason. For now, this Hunter's Moon, I can announce to you all that our contracted work with the Ministry is finally over. We are free to live in our territories with no interference from the Ministry of Magic."

This time, Fenrir's words are interrupted with the boisterous cheers and applause of all the pack members before him. The alpha werewolf waits a moment before he continues, eager himself to begin the hunt.

"We are no longer the lapdogs of the Ministry. We are not their beasts to be controlled. We are to be respected and given equal representation in their politics. As your alpha, I will personally make sure that the Magical World _never_ forgets that."

With those words, Fenrir lifts his head to the darkened sky as the pack cheers their alpha once again. His eyes settle on the spot where the moon is sure to emerge from the drifting clouds. The night air is charged with the ancient magic that governs the shift of himself and the other wolves that follow him. Experiencing the transformation with the rest of the pack is a bonding moment for all werewolves, like a group hunt, that the alpha wolf has always enjoyed. It reinforces the communal instincts that are a foundation of any strong pack. Fenrir feels the strengthening of the pack bond from all the gathered wolves before him, the unison humming around them all. Having their alpha among them, leading the pack through the shift from man to beast, is a balm to the rising anxiety that the approaching transformation always brings.  

As soon as the moonlight falls over the exposed pack, the werewolves begin to shift and change into their feral forms. Lycanthropy grips their bodies, forcing muscles and bone into a dramatic metamorphosis. The shifting pack members easily tear through human clothing as thick fur sprouts to cover and warm their bodies in its place. Soft feet and hands are replaced with rough pads as human faces elongate to fit sharp canine teeth. Groans of discomfort give way to the low whines as the moon finishes her work on the pack.

The shift is always a painful process for any werewolf pack, yet it is soothed by the familiar howl of their alpha to the full moon. Fenrir's hallowed call is slowly answered, one by one, by each member of the pack until every wolf is accounted for.

Once he is certain that all his werewolves have successfully and safely transformed, Fenrir leads the pack as they run out of the settlement to hunt the prey. The reindeer, boar, and hares that have gotten fat through the fall shiver in collective fear as the predators descend upon the land. Behind the wolves are the human/muggle members of the pack that prepare to collect the fallen prey that their packmates bring down. The hunting party splits into four parties once they leave the village, each party heading different directions to efficiently cover their territory.

Fenrir leads his group to an elk, a dangerous prey yet one that would feed many of the pack. His instincts rise, eager to take down such an impressive beast and start off the long-night hunt.

With the skill and grace of a apex predator, Fenrir circles the scared animal. The elk pounds the ground with its sharp hooves, anxiety rising as it realises that it is surrounded by a pack of no ordinary wolves. In their lupine forms, Scarlett and Derrick nip at the beast's legs, throwing it off and keeping the elk from gaining stable ground. The two betas work together to impressively dodge the rack of antlers the elk wields. Fenrir sees his opening as the beast turn his head to try and detach Derrick from its hind leg. The alpha goes for the throat, his sharp fangs piercing the thick pelt and supple flesh. As Fenrir feels the warm gush of fresh blood stain his grey fur, he holds on. The elk struggles in a noble, yet ultimately futile, effort to dislodge the wolf at its throat. Fenrir continues to hold on tenaciously, his jaw latched tightly until he feels the slowing pulse of blood stop completely. 

It is only after the elk weakly collapses to the ground that the alpha wolf releases his grip. Looking to Derrick and Scarlett, the two betas safe as they return the concerned gaze, Fenrir tilts his head back and howls. The first kill of the night is successful, the answering howls and excited yips travel to the rest of the hunting party.

When the hunters finally return to the encampment, bringing some impressive prizes back to be cleaned and stored for the winter, Fenrir's sharp eyes watch over his pack. Most of the transformed wolves are grey and brown, however a few black wolves stand out against the white snow. Fenrir is pleased that there have been no severe injuries tonight and that his pack's numbers haven't diminished. The younger wolves trot off to play enthusiastically with their peers while the mated wolves go to their families. The wizards and muggles of the Greyback pack that don't transform are greeted with happy yips and affectionate licks from the tired hunters. Their mates clean the blood from their fur and groom each other, basking in an intimacy that only exists between bonded pairs.

Watching these displays before him, Fenrir's wolf mind thinks back to the full moons he spent receiving Harry's relaxing ear scratches and nuzzling his growing cub in the wizard's belly. Almost instantaneously, the werewolf focuses on finding Harry and almost hysterically begins searching for the pale, green eyed and dark-haired wizard. His canine nose raises up to catch even a faint hint of the familiar scent of magic and home in the air. Yet, a miserable whine leaves Fenrir's throat as he finds nothing. In both human and wolf form, Fenrir has been longing for Harry ever since they parted—even he can't deny that. However this night, surrounded by the mated couples of his pack and their families, the wolf feels the painful yearning stronger than ever before.

So, with the clarity of this instinctual form, Fenrir realizes that he needs his mate. Whatever doubts that had plagued their relationship could be fixed and soothed. He would make it better and prove to his mate, to Harry, that he had chosen correctly.

The large wolf emits a sharp bark, catching his betas attention. Looking to Scarlett and Derrick with a fierce determination, they perk up their ears and wag their tails enthusiastically. The couple instantly realizing what their alpha is planning to do.

**_About damn time you came to your senses. Go get your mate, Fenrir._ **

**_We can handle everything here. Good Luck, Alpha._ **

With a triumphant howl, the alpha wolf bounds out into the open wilderness of the Russian taiga. The wind blows at his back, bringing with it the encouraging howls of his pack. Picking up his speed, Fenrir travels out of the range of the powerful anti-apparition wards and towards London.

 

* * *

 

Freshly fallen snow covers the English countryside around Ron and Hermione Weasley's home. Just outside the house, two children in thick winter coats play. The snow barely sticks together, however the two don't let that stop them from enjoying the icy powder. Their excitement of the surprise snowfall is evident by their laughter and bright smiles. Thoroughly engaged in their play, the two children don't notice the man that has just apparated behind them.

"What're you two doin' outside by yourselves?"

Looking up, Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley have surprised faces at the unexpected appearance of the stranger. However, a grin quickly replaces the boy's shock as he recognizes the older man by scent. Teddy may not have full lycanthropy, but his senses have always been a bit heightened thanks to his father's genes. However, his mother's genes are solely responsible for the sudden change in hair color due to his excitement.

"Hi, Grayson!"

"Hey cub," replies Fenrir, offering a small smile to the young children. "It's good to see you two again."

"Monsieur Grayson?" exclaims Victoire, finally recognizing the man without the glamour that Harry had placed on him all those months ago. "You look different."

"Yeah, I know. And the name is Fenrir Greyback. Not Grayson."

"Okay," the two children both reply, easily accepting the new information.

"Iz Uncle 'Arry with you?"

"No, actually I was hopin' he was here."

At the disappointing news, Fenrir lets out a resigned sigh. He has been all over London and the home of Ron and Hermione Weasley was the last place that the werewolf could think of to find his mate. Now, he has absolutely no idea where else to look for Harry. Fenrir runs a hand through his thick grey-streaked hair in frustration as he tries to think of where to go next in his search.

"Are you okay, Mr. Greyback? You look sad."

"I'm fine," assures the man, smiling a bit as the boy's hair changes color yet again. "You two don't stay out here too long. It's gettin' cold out."

"It's okay. Aunt 'Mione is making us hot chocolate!"

"You should join us!" Victoire exclaims suddenly, the excitement radiating from her bright face.

"Sorry cubs, I have something to do. Maybe next time, alright?"

Teddy and Victoire are noticeably disappointed, but still wave enthusiastically to the werewolf as they head back into the house. Once the two kids are safely inside, Fenrir, lets out another deep sigh. As the man turns to walk away, he is surprised when Hermione suddenly appears in the doorway of her home.

"Fenrir, wait!"

At the witch's call, he stays put. Piercing blue eyes simply watch as Hermione hurries to catch up to him. The woman is clad in a practical blue wool coat and boots she must have just pulled on to step out of the house. The werewolf notices the blush to her round cheeks as well as a faint sweetness that clings to her normal scent. Shrugging it off, Fenrir focuses on Hermione as she catches her breath from the short run.

"Why didn't you come inside?" inquires the witch, her eyebrow raised in question.

"I just came to find Harry. I figured that you all didn't need me ruinin' your get together."

The man's gruff answer makes a smile appear on Hermione's face. With a knowing look, the witch simply observes the intimidating man known as Fenrir Greyback.

"You're welcome in our house, Fenrir. Even if I have to remind my husband of that fact from time to time."

"I appreciate that."

"Good. Now that that's all settled, Harry went to go see Luna Lovegood right after he was cleared from St. Mungo's. Hold on."

With a flick of her wand, the witch summons a slip of paper. Using the tip of her wand, she quickly scribbles down the address of Luna Lovegood in perfect handwriting before handing it over to Fenrir.

"Here you go. This is Luna's address in Ireland. She'll be expecting you, I'm sure."

A wave of relief, as well as shock, passes through Fenrir as he takes the paper that will lead him to his mate. If he was a different man, he may have even hugged the witch before him.

"Not that I ain't thankful, but why're you givin' this to me?"

For a minute, Hermione doesn't answer as her expression shifts from practicality to one of deep thought. The witch then releases a sigh of her own.

"As Head of the Department of Magical Creatures, I often have to do research into some of it's rather unsavory history. Which includes the discriminatory laws and regulations that have been passed by my predecessors, especially in regards to magical creatures and beings. Harry has also told me of the more recent issue regarding the unmandated extension of your service contract with the Ministry. During my tenure, I'm hoping to rectify those oversights and misuse of Ministry power. And while I don't condone your past actions, I can understand why someone would be driven to do them. The way werewolves have been treated by the Ministry is nothing short of appalling."

Fenrir stares at the clever witch for a moment.

"I appreciate that. However, none of what you said explains why you're helpin' me find Harry."

"True. I would be remiss not to mention that there is a more personal reason behind my help," Hermione continues after a beat. "The three of us, Harry, Ron and I, have been through so much together—we're family. And as much as we love Harry, Ron and I alone can't give him everything that he needs. Harry needs you, Fenrir, his mate, to be truly happy. After all, you're his family now, too."

"Thanks," replies the werewolf, honestly unsure of how else to respond to such a statement.

Taken aback by the offered gratitude, Hermione smiles.

"You're very welcome. Family is important after all."

Fenrir stares at the witch for a long moment. He smirks as he finally connects the odd observations about her appearance.

"Congratulations on the baby."

The offhanded comment has the witch blushing as her eyes widen comically. To the werewolf's enjoyment, it takes a long moment for Hermione to regain herself.

"H-how'd you know that I'm pregnant?"

"I'm a werewolf, remember?"

"Right. Of course," the witch responds, annoyed with herself that she had forgotten how powerful lycan olfactory senses are. "I haven't told anyone yet, so please keep it to yourself. Ron will hate it if he finds out that you knew before he did."

"He won't hear it from me."

"That also reminds me, Fenrir," Hermione adds, her tone instantly becoming inquisitive. "I'm currently compiling a more inclusive archive on magical creatures. If you'd be so inclined, I'd be grateful if you would directly contribute to the portion that focuses on werewolves and lycanthropy. It's about time that the Magical World has an unbiased and factual record."

Fenrir can't help but smirk at the witch's disdain for the current records that he's sure litters the archives of the Ministry of Magic.

"I can do that."

With that, the man turns to walk away, preparing to apparate as close as he can to the address he has been given.

"Thank you," The witch calls after him, smiling at the gesture. "And good luck with Harry!"

The werewolf doesn't turn around or stop, but Fenrir does lift a hand up in acknowledgement of Hermione's encouragement.

 

* * *

 

The rolling hills of Ireland are covered in their own light dusting of snow as a cool breeze chills the valley. Luna Lovegood is outside sweeping her porch of the white powder bundled up in a pale lavender peacoat. The blonde witch simply continues her task humming an odd tune, not even looking up, as a guest approaches her home. Instead, a soft smile is on her face as her eyes finally make contact with the gruff werewolf.

"Ah, you must be Fenrir Greyback."

"Yeah, and you must be Luna Lovegood."

"Yes, I am," replies the witch as she leans the broom against the side of her home. "If you're here for Harry, I'm afraid that you've just missed him. He returned to England just a few hours ago. He was quite determined to finish some work at the Ministry. He did as much as he could here via owl, but apparently there are some things that have to be done in person, even in this day and age."

The werewolf grumbles in annoyance and swears under his breath as he realizes that he came all the way to Ireland for nothing. With a murmured "thanks", he turns around to make his way back to England.

"Mr. Greyback , before you go, may I say something?"

The wolf halts in his tracks. He turns to face Luna.

"I'm listenin'."

With that, Luna puts down her broom and walks to the edge of the porch. Using the added height the steps give her, she stares into Fenrir's eyes. The open honesty in her gaze has the werewolf a bit anxious to know what she finds there. He is further surprised when the woman's hands reach out and tilt his face down to aid in the endeavor.

"No matter what Harry might say to you when you find him, he does love you. I do hope you know that."

The statement hangs in the air between the two for a long moment, as Fenrir regards the witch.

"How exactly do you know that?"

"Well, I've been friends with Harry for a long time, and this is the first time I've seen him so vulnerable. Even when we were fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Harry somehow managed to keep things together. But when he came here, the bravest person I've ever known was literally crying on my doorstep," the pale witch informs as he removes her hands. "And in my experience, a person can only be that sad about leaving someone when they love that person with all their heart."

As those words sink in, Fenrir takes a deep breath.

"Then again," adds Luna, with a bright smile. "Harry didn't exactly deny his feeling when I asked him if he loved you. So, there's that to go on as well."

The unexpected statement has Fenrir smirking against his better judgment. Remembering what Harry himself had told him about the unconventional witch, the werewolf decides almost immediately that he could grow to like her.

"Thank you for takin' care of him, when I couldn't."

"Not a problem. Hopefully, I won't have to do it again."

"You won't," guarantees Fenrir. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to have some extra Floo Powder and a workin' fireplace, would ya?"

"Follow me. I'm pretty sure that Harry left some behind when he left for the Ministry," Luna offers as she leads the way through her home. When they reach the stone fireplace, a small fire burning away, the witch turns back to the werewolf. "Before you leave, may I ask you a question, Fenrir? It's in regards to something that has been bothering me for some time."

"Ask your question."

"When you were a younger werewolf, did they still call you Greyback? I mean, your hair is streaked now but I can't imagine that you always had grey hair. That would be an odd thing to have as a child or even a teenager."

There is a moment of silence between the witch and the werewolf. Luna stares up at him as Fenrir simply raises an eyebrow. The silence is broken when the werewolf replies.

"When in wolf form, my coat has mostly silver-grey fur along my back. Apparently, it's an inherited trait for alphas of the Greyback line. 'To have the grey on our backs' means that we've been graced by the moon, if you believe the legend."

"Ah, how lovely."

The alpha wolf hesitates for a moment at the easy way Luna accepts that explanation, as if he just explained the inner workings of the universe to her in a single sentence. He then lets out a gruff chuckle. The pale witch smiles back as she offers him the small pot of Floo Powder from the mantle. 

Fenrir stands corrected, he _definitely_ likes this witch. If nothing else, Harry has good taste in his comrades.

With nothing more than a grateful nod to Luna, he scoops up some floo powder and throws it into the crackling fireplace. 

"Ministry of Magic!" Fenrir clearly shouts just before disappearing in a burst of green flame. 

 

* * *

 

Shaking off excess Floo Powder from his coat, Fenrir Greyback stalks through the halls of the Ministry of Magic—the alpha werewolf on a mission. He pays no attention to the various ministry employees he passes or the mumbled gossip that leaves their lips. Fenrir simply focuses on finding Harry, a task easier said than done. Sifting through the multitude of smells that fill the dark marble halls, he searches for a particular scent. It takes a few moments, but eventually Fenrir's nose finds the aura of powerful magic wrapped with the intoxicating scent that belongs to one Harry James Potter.

Locking onto it, the man starts down the main hall with heavy strides. The labyrinth of corridors that make up the Ministry of Magic mean nothing to a werewolf that is trained on a particular scent.

" _Mr. Greyback?_ "

At his name, the man manages to snap himself out of his focused hunt. Turning around, Fenrir finds himself looking into the familiar face of Abigail. The dark-haired witch stares at him with a look of honest surprise and shock.

"What are you doing here at the Ministry?"

"I'm here to see Harry. Do you know where he is?"

"Well, I suppose that he's still in his office since Minister Shacklebolt hasn't lifted his field work restriction. Though, Mr.Potter has been quite busy as of late so even that is a guess."

"Where's his office?"

With a small smile, the girl points down a hallway.

"The Head Auror's office is down that hall there. When you reach the end of it, stand on the seal on the floor and say the password. The door to Harry's office will appear then."

"What's the password?"

"Lemondrop," replies the witch without hesitation. "Make sure you enunciate, it is a rather old ward, unfortunately."

"Why are you bein' so helpful?" Fenrir asks, not for the first time today. After all, the other two witches he's encountered have been incredibly helpful. On second thought, the man supposes that he probably shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You saved my life back in the Forbidden Forest, Mr.Greyback. The least I can do is break a few rules and Ministry protocols to help you find your erm, _mate_."

Taking the help, Fenrir offers the witch a look of approval. It is a rare look given to anyone outside the werewolf's pack and it manages to surprise the dark-haired girl.

"Abigail, it's good to see that you're feelin' better."

"Thank you, Mr.Greyba—."

"You can just call me, Fenrir."

The witch and the werewolf exchange a look of understanding before they part ways. Following Abigail's instructions, Fenrir finds himself standing before a solid wall of marble. On the floor is a seal of the Auror's office. Stating the password, the man watches as the marble wall shifts to reveal a carved wooden door emblazoned with the title: Head Auror:  Harry J. Potter. Taking a brief moment to formulate a quick plan, the werewolf turns the doorknob and strides into the room with purpose.

For a moment, there is complete silence as the werewolf stares at the rather-surprised Head Auror of the Ministry of Magic. Familiar, yet startled, green eyes look up at Fenrir as the man crosses the threshold of the office and shuts the door behind him.

"Hullo, Harry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed flushing out Fenrir's pack lands and some of the members. In case anyone is interested, the Greyback pack is located in the northern taiga area of Russia, near the Yugyd Va National Park(It's gorgeous!).
> 
> Also, sorry to end it here(this chapter was also a bit choppy, but it lays the groundwork for the next one), but I had to break this chapter up somewhere! Good news is that won't take very long for the next, and final, chapter to be posted.
> 
> Later Days!


	11. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [***Reloaded with promised sketch at the end, whoopsies***]
> 
> Here it is, the finale of Wizards and Werewolves Don't Mix, so I won't hold you up, ENJOY!
> 
> *Also, just a heads up, in this chapter I flip between Harry's and Fenrir's POV more often than usual, but I think it's necessary to see both sides of the situation/resolution here.
> 
> Warnings: Non-graphic childbirth(At least I think so) and the usual potty mouth of Fenrir Greyback.

"Fenrir?!" Harry exclaims as he nervously fiddles with his flowing ministry robes. "W-what are you doing here?!"

The Head Auror is beyond shocked to find himself trapped in his Ministry office with the rather intimidating werewolf. Harry turns away from his desk to completely face Fenrir, yet he carefully angles his body. The cloaking spell currently around his belly is meant to protect their baby from the public's prying eyes, but the surprise appearance of his mate has Harry at a loss.  Part of the wizard is overjoyed to see the hulking and impressive frame of his werewolf, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the man's embrace. Yet another part of Harry is wary and anxious, unsure of exactly why Fenrir is staring him down with an unwavering determination that refuses to be ignored.

"I'm here for you, Harry," begins Fenrir, his gruff voice leaving no room for argument. "No matter what, you are still my mate." 

As the man speaks, Harry subconsciously rubs his hand over the fading bite on the side of his throat. The innocuous movement immediately draws Fenrir's eyes to the faint mark on the wizard's pale neck. The bruise hasn't been refreshed in weeks, and Harry knows that it is so light now that it is barely noticeable. Scarlett had told him once that in werewolf society, a fading claim mark is like a divorce. And once that mark completely disappears from the skin, that mate once again becomes "unclaimed".  Harry is startled from his memory by the low growl that is emanating from the alpha's throat. The sound, paired with the unrelenting stare trained on his neck, indicates that Fenrir too must have realized this fact.  

 

"So, err-what do you want with me?" asks Harry, a bit concerned with the menacing grumbling.

"Well, I came here to say that I was a selfish arse to you, for starters. I figured the rest would just come to me."

At those words, Harry's eyes soften as a hint of a smile graces his lips. Fenrir's unapologetic bluntness is a welcome familiarity.

"Is this really the time for jokes, Fen?"

Despite the tone, the werewolf is encouraged by the use of his nickname.

"I'm bein' completely serious. I was an arse, and a stubborn one at that. I pushed you away thinkin' I could handle everythin' myself. It's what I'm used to, Harry."

"Fenrir, I—"

"I want you back, pup. So, let's fix this."

At the honest statement, Harry unconsciously takes a step forward towards his mate. However he stumbles, losing his footing on a bump in the thick carpet covering the floor. The wizard almost falls back into his desk, however Fenrir grabs his upper arm just in time to regain his footing. At the sudden closeness, Harry's eyes widen and glance down nervously at his stomach. Following the wizard's suspicious gaze, Fenrir looks down only to be shocked into silence. He is unable to even breath as he takes in the sight before him. Instead of the flat abdomen he was expecting to be on his mate, the werewolf's piercing blue eyes are focused on Harry's round, pregnant belly now proudly on display and straining against the Ministry robes.

Fenrir's mind is a complete blank as he processes what he is seeing. Offhandedly, he notices that the belly has grown larger since the last time he saw it. Harry's flowing robes, and what he suspects to be the remnants a cloaking charm, have managed to do a moderately good job hiding it from afar. However, at this proximity it is obvious—his mate is still carrying their cub.

"Why the **fuck** are you still pregnant, Harry?!" demands the werewolf, his bewildered gaze never leaving the belly housing his, _still very-much alive_ , child.

At the silence that answers his question, Fenrir looks up—hoping that whatever expression is on Harry's face will explain what is going on. However, the wizard's face is frozen in an odd mixture of fear and guilt, his mouth making attempts to form words.

"You told me you lost our cub," Fenrir prompts, his voice softer as he waits for an explanation.

"I-I know what I told you," Harry starts, the wizard unable to quite meet the other man's eyes. "That day, I wasn't thinking clearly, at all. We both needed some space and I knew you would never leave me if you thought I was still pregnant. So, I-I lied. I know it was horrible and incredibly selfish but I felt so stupid and naïve for trusting in you. But I swear, I had every intention on telling yo—"

The wizard is shut up as Fenrir yanks him close and kisses Harry so intensely that the rest of his words are quickly forgotten. At first, the kiss the werewolf starts is one sided as his mate seems to be in shock. Then, Harry's lips slowly start to respond to the familiar passion that has hallmarked all of their affections. A soft moan escapes the Head Auror as the comforting vice of Fenrir's well-muscled arms presses him against the man's strong chest. Fenrir growls possessively as he feels Harry's body relax into his. He slides his large hands down the wizard's slim torso to rest on the familiar curve of Harry's hips as he allows the younger to deepen the kiss. He isn't disappointed as Harry tilts his head to change the angle, and gives Fenrir even more access to his full lips.  

Their kiss lasts far longer than either intended it to, but neither the werewolf nor the wizard seem to mind. Pulling back for a moment in order to catch their breaths, Fenrir lowers his head to watch the wizard. Harry's hands clench tightly in Fenrir's weathered coat, as he tucks his head of messy, dark hair under the man's chin—as if it has belonged there for ages. The familiar presence of his pregnant mate against him makes the werewolf swell with pride.

"I don't know how we can fix this, Fenrir," admits Harry, as he raises his head a bit. "I don't know how you can even bear to look at me right now, knowing what I did."

At the miserable tone of the wizard's voice, Fenrir lowers his own timbre to a low whisper.

"We both fucked up, Harry. Me especially. What's most important is that we still have our cub, eh?"

Fenrir's large hands slide down to grasp the wizard's swollen belly. Reverently, the man pushes aside the flowing robes—the alpha wolf still half afraid that this is only some dream. When his hands rest on the protruding curve of his mate's stomach, Fenrir lets out a breath he hadn't know that he'd been holding. A rare genuine smile crosses the man's face when he suddenly feels movement underneath his palm.

And just like that, it hits Fenrir.

He had almost lost this, his son,  _forever_.

The idea that their cub was gone had never really been cemented for Fenrir because Harry had been gone too. For the longest time, the man had considered his mate and cub as one entity, after all the cub has always been safely inside the womb Harry's own core created, protected by his powerful magic. So, as long as Harry was fine(even if said mate wasn't right by his side) so was the baby. In retrospect, Fenrir realizes that he has been actively denying the loss of their son. He had refused to truly accept what Harry had told him in that hospital bed and kept pushing the words out of his mind until he got his own shit together. Fenrir had simply been so focused on getting Harry back, that he had pushed aside his grief. The alpha had compartmentalized his emotions in the hope that he would somehow deal with that pain only _after_  he got his mate back.

Fenrir knows that seeing Harry's flat abdomen would have been the physical proof, that undeniable, _yet tangible_ , evidence that they had actually lost their cub.

But now, just like that, his mate and unborn cub are in his grasp again. Both of them healthy and _wonderfully_ alive.

A wave of relief washes over Fenrir, the cathartic realization softening the werewolf's expression. The crushing guilt and frustration he has been feeling over the last few weeks retreats as if it were never there. They are no longer important as they are beat back by overwhelming joy and soul-deep gratitude. To control the strange onslaught of new emotions, Fenrir focuses on the simple act of caressing Harry's belly, so beautifully swollen with the life they created.

Seeing the relieved expression on his mate's face, Harry uses both hands to raise Fenrir's head. The wizard can't help but smile at the familiar rasp of his mate's beard against his palms. Once the werewolf's piercing blue eyes are level with his green ones, Harry bites his lip as he tries to start the conversation that needs to take place.

"I am so sorry, Fenrir. I never should have let you believe that we lost our baby, not even for one second. It wasn't fair. You are completely within your rights to never forgive me for that. I'll both understand and respect that."

The werewolf's face hardens at those words. Keeping his expression neutral, while his hands refuse to leave their child, Fenrir speaks.

"Tell me why you lied, Harry."

Dropping his gaze for a moment, Harry's reply to the request comes out as a whisper.

"Honestly, I was scared."

"Of what, me?"

"No, not of you, Fen. I was scared of what I was prepared to do for you," begins Harry awkwardly. "Merlin, I'm not explaining this well . . ."

Taking a second to think over his words, the wizard restarts his explanation.

"Alright, when you came to see me in hospital, I had already forgiven you for not telling me about the move to Alaska. Honestly, I was just annoyed that you hadn't talked to me about it. But then I started to realize that even if you had talked to me about it, I probably would have just gone along with it, just to make you happy. But, that isn't me, Fenrir. Being that compliant, made me relive the times in my life where I had no control and it scared me. It started to feel like I was that odd boy living in the Dursley's closet beneath the stairs again, just doing what I had to do to make someone else happy. I mean, everything happened so quickly between the two of us. And if it was just me I had to worry about, it wouldn't be such a huge deal. But, we have a baby on the way and it just isn't about me or just you anymore. I needed time to figure out if this is what I really wanted. I needed time to seriously consider if our situation was best for an innocent child to grow up in."

Looking up into the man's eyes, Harry takes a deep breath as he tries to figure out how to explain this next part. The wizard not entirely sure how the werewolf would take it.

"I was also giving you an out, Fenrir. Ever since Abigail was hospitalized and when you spoke with Kingsley, you had been distant. I started thinking that you were regretting being with me, that I had done something wrong. I mean, neither of us expected a long-term relationship to come from that one night. We both had plans for our lives, and I didn't want to hold you back just because you managed to impregnate me. Our baby couldn't be the only reason why we were together. It would be unfair for either of us, but especially our son. So I figured that telling you that we lost the baby would make it easier for you. That you could go and live your life with your packs without feeling obligated to me. And eventually, after some time had passed, your claim on me would fade and you would be free to find someone that would be a better mate for you."

Harry stops for a second, visibly disturbed by the mere idea of Fenrir finding a replacement mate. The auror's intense green eyes then stare up at the werewolf who, by technicality, is still his. Remembering Luna's words, as well as the rather harsh scolding from Hermione, Harry continues. The wizard fully determined to be honest with the man before him.

"Letting you go was the hardest thing I ever had to do, Fenrir. But I didn't want you to end up resenting me, or worse, our baby. I could handle you hating me, but I couldn't handle our son being hurt because of an issue in our relationship. I know what it's like to live in a house as an obligation, to be constantly reminded that you're not wanted, t-that you're an inconvenience. I couldn't do that to our child. I wouldn't wish that existence on anyone. But, I know that these are my issues and I should have talked to you about my insecurities instead of making decisions on my own. And once I finished getting everything settled here at the Ministry, I was going to come you in person to tell you about our baby, _I swear_. I was never planning to keep you out of his life. I would never deprive you of being our son's father."

Fenrir is silent for an unimaginable amount of time. All he does is continually caress his growing cub as he digests Harry's explanation. However for Harry, the minutes that pass by are agonizingly slow. His eyes remain on the large man before him, trying to read the impenetrable expression on his rugged face.

"So, what did you decide?"

"What?" asks the wizard, honestly surprised by the lone question that leaves Fenrir's lips.

"You said that you wanted to think over our relationship, right? So, what did you decide?"

Most people would see Fenrir's demand as just that, a type of domination that is typical for an alpha werewolf such as himself. But to his mate, to Harry, he sees the vulnerability that peeks through his words. At this realization, Harry smiles up at the man sincerely.

"I decided to remind myself why I became your mate in the first place, Fenrir. Thinking back on our entire relationship, with all that's happened between us, I realized that, that I'm in love with you. Even if it makes no sense to anyone else and our life together is forever chronicled by the front page headlines of the Daily Prophet, I truly don't care. I love being mated to you. And I decided that if you ever managed to forgive me for everything I put you through, I would do whatever I had to do in order to make it up to you. I also know that I may never be able to fully make up for what I did. There are some things that can't be forgiven. However, regardless of that, you will always have me fighting for you, our cub, and all werewolves and their families as Head Auror."

A proud smile graces the werewolf's face as he sees the feistiness in Harry that originally gained his attention all those months ago in that muggle pub.

"So, you love me, eh?"

"Yes."

That simple confirmation makes Fenrir's chest swell. He takes a deep breath as he leans down to rest his forehead against Harry's, feeling the lightening bolt shaped scar pressing against his skin. For a moment, the two simply close their eyes and bask in each other.

"Pup, I get it," begins Fenrir, his deep voice having a sobering timbre to it. He opens his eyes to stare into Harry's own. "I wasn't exactly the shinin' example of a perfect mate, for a load of reasons. Mainly, I neglected you because I felt guilty enjoyin' you and our cub instead of just focusin' on doin' my job as alpha to my packs. The two of you were unexpected surprises in my life, but neither of you were ever inconveniences or burdens to me. I failed as your mate if for one moment you ever felt that way, Harry."

"Fenr—"

"You're carrying our son, so your job is to protect the cub from anythin' that could possibly harm him—even me," interrupts the werewolf, putting an end to his mate's protest. "That all bein' said, you don't **_ever_** do anythin' like that again, you hear me?"

At the statement, Harry nods emphatically. The wizard not trusting himself with words at the moment.

"Good. I couldn't handle losin' either of you again."

For a moment the two are silent. Harry is in complete shock of the amount of emotion that Fenrir is exposing. It might not be the most romantic of proclamations, but the wizard knows that the gruff man shows his feelings through actions than words. The fact that Fenrir is still here, despite everything that has transpired between them, means more than anything that the werewolf could ever say.

Fenrir spends the time thinking to himself. While he is rightfully angry about the lie, he knows that Harry needed the time to think. Without a doubt, the alpha would have followed his pregnant mate to the ends of the Earth only further straining their frayed relationship. Even though his mate had rejected him, the wolf in Fenrir would still be viciously over-protective of his unborn cub.

But as he thinks all of this, one emotion is still most prevalent in Fenrir's mind—overwhelming gratitude. His mate and his cub are in his arms once again, both alive and well. And staring down into Harry's emerald eyes that he had deeply missed, he only finds sincere remorse looking back at him.

After all, one thing that the infamous werewolf can spot from a mile away is bullshit(Working with the Dark Lord for all those years had finely honed that particular skill set).

Not knowing what else to say at the moment, Fenrir's gaze lowers to their growing baby as he continues the reverent caresses of Harry's gravid belly.

"Our cub's gotten so big. It's only been six weeks."

"Yeah, he has quite the appetite."

"Has he been any trouble?"

"No, not really. But your son missed you, especially during full moons. Apparently, they make him just as restless as his father."

Thinking back to the days leading up to the last full moon they spent together, Fenrir reunites his gaze with Harry's.

"Pup."

"Yes?"

"There are few people in my life that have the balls to tell me when I'm being an arse. Especially to my face and in public."

"I still can't believe I did that," winces Harry, remembering the scene that the two must have made that night. "I was just so angry that I wasn't even thinking about where we were. I mean, it's my fault that everyone found out about us."

"There's no need to apologize for being honest with me, I respect that. Besides, I was wrong."

Harry's eyes widen at the man's admission. Seeing it, a grin tugs at Fenrir's lips.

"I ain't perfect, and at times I need to be reminded of that. It keeps me in my place, not just as Alpha of my pack, but as your mate."

"Well, I still shouldn't have antagonized you so close to the full moon. You aren't in the best state of mind for an intense discussion about our relationship. I was frustrated, but I should have waited and talked to you about it. This isn't going to work if we can't talk to each other properly."

"So, you still want this to work, then?" asks the werewolf.

"Yes, I do. The real question is, do you?"

Seeing the fear of rejection that still lingers in Harry's eyes for the lie he told, Fenrir's face softens. He knows that if he chose to, he could hold onto his anger at that deception. Like Harry said, he is perfectly within his rights to do so . . .

Or he could let it go and hold on even tighter to his family. The one thing Fenrir has been wanting to do since he found out that he was finally going to have one of his own.

"I have my family back, I ain't goin' anywhere."

At the blinding smile that blooms across the wizard's face, Fenrir knows that he made the right choice.

"So then," beings Harry, as his hands slip underneath the weight of the man's heavy coat. "I guess that I—I mean, _we_ are still yours."

"Damn straight," growls out the werewolf as he pulls Harry closer to him. His hand slipping from his mate's swollen belly to wrap around Harry's torso. Fenrir can't help but chuckle at the frustrated whine the wizard emits as their growing child prevents them from getting as close as Harry normally prefers.

Nevertheless, the wizard's arms wrap around Fenrir's neck as he is gently pressed against the familiar musculature of his mate and kissed within an inch of his life. When his lips are finally released, Harry is panting for breath. A growl of displeasure leaves the werewolf's throat, throwing the wizard off.

"What is it, Fen?"

"It's faded."

"What has?"

"My mark. It's faded. And you barely have my scent anymore," murmurs the werewolf as he buries his nose into Harry's hair. "Can't have that, can we?."

"Fenrir, please."

At the plea, Fenrir leans in to refresh the bruise that contrasts the rest of his wizard's throat. A small moan escapes Harry as the man starts kissing beneath his ear, Fenrir moving the collar of the ministry robes to fully expose the fading mark. The moment that the werewolf's sharp teeth graze along the wizard's skin, Harry shivers in anticipation.

Wrapped in the werewolf's embrace, the wizard can't help but bask in the familiar, commanding presence of his mate. Harry is practically lightheaded with the welcoming influx of Fenrir's pheromones. This far along into his pregnancy, the shared genes between him and his son are still enhancing the wizard's senses to near lycanthropic levels. And for a little under two months, Harry has been without the constant, dominating scent of Fenrir Greyback. So, being engulfed in the potent scent so suddenly, Harry is completely unprepared for the effect it has on him. A pure sensory overload threatens to intoxicate the pregnant wizard as the werewolf reestablishes his claim, stimulating the primal urges within Harry's own body. However, the rapid cramps that start assaulting his abdomen make Harry's knees weak with the pain. He collapses into Fenrir's arms, which quickly tighten to support the wizard's weight.

"What's wrong, pup?"

Taking a moment to inhale a few breaths of air and reorient himself, Harry looks up at the concerned werewolf with an incredulous look.

"I-I think the baby's coming," gasps out the wizard, his green eyes widened in shock.

"Now? But your birthing appointment was scheduled for next week, wasn't it? November somethin'?"

"Well the baby doesn't seem to care about dates and appointments, Fenrir. It wants out now!"

 

* * *

 

In an impressively short amount of time, a flurry of Mediwizards and witches have descended upon the main hall of the Ministry of Magic that leads up to the Head Auror's office. Gathered around the makeshift barricade, random ministry employees mill about for news on the birth of the century. Meanwhile, inside the office, Harry Potter is lying on the floor with his head in Fenrir's lap. The man's heavy coat is used as an additional pad for the thick carpeting as "The Boy Who Lived" prepares to bring his son into the world. Around the couple is Healer Merriweather and her team of mediwizards from Saint Mungo's as they set up the spell and procedure needed to safely remove the cub from Harry's body.

"Breathe, pup," coaches Fenrir as he brushes messy dark hair from the wizard's face. "Nice and easy, there we go."

"Don't tell me what to do Fenr—Ow! Merlin, this bloody hurts."

"Scream all you want, Harry. I'm right here."

"Get away from me!" screeches out the wizard, attempting to push the large man away with little effect. "You're lucky the healers took away my wand or I'd curse you so you could feel this pain along with me!"

"Don't worry, that's just the labor pains talking," assures Healer Merriweather as she continues to prep Harry for the procedure. An herbal paste that emanates the scent of chamomile is spread across the young wizard's swollen belly. "It's a common reaction in all deliveries, magical or natural, apparently."

"It don't matter, I'm not leavin'. I don't give a shite what Harry says to me."

When the next muscle contraction hits, Harry tightens his grip on the man's thigh. Fenrir is surprised with the strength in his mate's small hands as he squeezes through the pain, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"I'm not actually giving birth, why does it hurt so bloody much!" screams out the Head Auror as the excruciating pain passes."Merlin, growing bones was easier than this!"

"Your body is still going through remarkably similar motions for a traditional birth," answers Healer Merriweather, using her wand to see if Harry's body is ready to deliver. "Like we discussed before, the baby is in a temporary womb in your body. It just doesn't have a way to naturally push the baby out. I suspect without medical assistance this process would be even more painful than it is."

"Oh, I find that rather hard to believe at the moment," replies Harry sarcastically, just before another moan of pain passes through his lips.

"Alright Mr. Potter, it looks like the baby has completely separated from your body. We're ready to welcome your baby boy into the world. Like we talked about, we are going to use a druid-based alchemy to ease the process since you don't have the necessary anatomy. Are you ready?"

Busy panting through the pain, it takes a moment for Harry to properly respond.

"Y-yeah, I'm ready."

At the words, Fenrir moves back a bit to give the Mediwizards, including Healer Merriweather, room to do the delicate procedure. He is stopped however by the renewed grip of his mate's fingers digging into his arm.

"Don't go, Fen, please! I'm sorry I didn't mean any of the horrible things I said," Harry pleads, bringing Fenrir closer to him. "I missed you so much."

At the tear-filled viridian eyes staring up at him pleadingly, Fenrir leans down and cups the side of the wizard's face with one of his large hands. His thumb starts to caress a flushed cheek in a comforting manner.

"I'm not going anywhere, pup. I promise." the werewolf whispers low enough so that only the auror can hear the conviction in his voice. "I'm never leaving my mate and cub ever again."

At the possessive growl that tinges the man's words, Harry looks up. His eyes widen as Fenrir's gaze remains steadily on him. The piercing blue orbs are intense with the werewolf's unspoken yearning for his mate.

"You missed me?"

Realizing that the conversation seems to be distracting Harry from the pain, Fenrir starts talking more.

"I must have. I've been carrying this around with me just because it smelled the most like you."

At the familiar yellow and burgundy scarf that is taken out of Fenrir's pocket, Harry manages to smile. After all, he could use a bit of his Gryffindor courage right about now.

"I was looking for my scarf. Ah! I-I thought I lost it."

At the hitch in Harry's voice, Fenrir continues.

"And, I bought our cottage in Hogsmeade from the Ministry."

"You did?"

"That's were we made the cub. Only seemed right that he grows up there too."

"Fen, I—You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

At the gesture, Harry manages to give the man a smile even through the discomfort in his abdomen. The pain has ebbed considerably, most likely due to whatever analgesic spell that the healers have cast on him. Harry lets out a sigh of relief as everything below his chest starts to feel pleasantly numb. With a flick of their wands, the mediwizards tranfigure a partition over the auror's chest so that the couple can't see everything that this particular birthing process entails. Harry is eternally grateful for that.

"Alright, Harry, we are removing the baby from the womb," informs Healer Merriweather with a comforting smile. "If you feel any pain let me know, we'll reinforce the numbing spell. We just need you to stay calm and relaxed, okay?"

"I can do that, I think. I'm not in pain anymore, it just feels really weird."

"That should be normal. We aren't making any incisions into your body like a muggle surgery, but we still have to shift some organs out of the way. You'll feel some pressure, but I assure you that so far everything is going very well."

The two parents share a look with each other at the mention of shifting organs, but decide to have faith in Healer Merriweather—the woman hasn't steered them wrong yet. Holding his mate's hand, Fenrir runs a hand through Harry's unruly locks. The thick hair is sweaty, but the werewolf revels in being close to his mate once again.

"You're doing so good, pup," murmurs Fenrir.

"I'm glad you're here."

At the admittance, the werewolf grins down at his mate.

"Dementors couldn't keep me away."

The reassurance has Harry smiling back.

"Alright you two, get ready to meet your baby," Healer Merriweather announces, interrupting the intimate moment. "He's coming out now."

A soft white glow bathes Harry's office, a silent announcement that their child has entered the world. The healers finish removing the baby from Harry, moving slowly as not to shock the cub with the change in environment—or trigger Harry's magical core to protect the newborn.

"I need a blanket," remarks Healer Merriweather to one of her assistants.

With bated breath, the two parents wait to hear the first cry of their newborn son, and anxiously try to look over the partition. A few moments pass before the air is suddenly pierced with the sharp, wailing cry of a newborn baby— _their_ newborn baby. Harry and Fenrir breath a sigh of relief at the healthy sound leaving their son's mouth.

Another minute passes before the partition is taken down and the healer approaches them with a bundle in her arms. With a wide smile, Healer Merriweather gently places the baby into Harry's waiting arms.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Greyback, I'd like you to meet your son. A healthy boy with all twenty of his fingers and toes, ten each respectively."

As Harry holds his son, his own eyes are wide with tired wonder as he looks down at his newborn baby. The infant is so tiny in his arms, a pink squishy thing that gurgles and squirms in his arms. The baby's shrill screams quiet down a bit as he somehow recognizes that he's in his carrier's arms. Harry gently cradles their son close to his chest, in pure awe of this life that he and Fenrir have created.

"Our cub is perfect."

Looking up at the man's words, Harry smiles.

"Yeah, he is."

 

* * *

 

Once the drama of the impromptu birth of his son has passed, Fenrir watches his new family with pride as Healer Merriweather and her team gets ready to transport Harry and the baby to St. Mungo's. The man knows firsthand that the wizard is tired from the ordeal, yet he somehow manages to find the energy to coo soothing words to their newborn son. Lost in the endearing scene, Fenrir barely notices as Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt comes up behind him.

"How are they doing?"

"They're restin'. The Healer's are finishing up with their checks."

"Good, Harry deserves some decent rest. He hasn't been himself lately and I've lost count how many times I've told him not to work too hard this past week. But like always, he is stubborn. Something the two of you have in common, by the way."

"Wait, what do you mean he's been workin' too hard?" inquires the werewolf, focusing on the most important part of Kingsley's words. "I thought you had him banned from field work."

"I did. For the last month, Harry has been personally reviewing all Ministry procedures on magical child protective services with Ronald and Hermione. The 'Golden Trio' had the Magical Children Protection Agency running for their money, practically daring them to come after you or your son. It also turns out that the M.C.P.A. never completed their committee paperwork and have been making false claims for years in order to simply divide families they deemed unsuitable, their members were remnants of Dolores Umbridge's supporters, I'm afraid. Harry even found the time to draw up official paperwork claiming you as an official consultant to the Auror Department on Lycanthropy. So now, you and all your packs are officially under his direct jurisdiction and permanent Ministry protection, pending approval by the Minister of Magic, of course."

"So, what does that all mean, Kingsley?"

"Basically, if anyone gets the idea to separate you from Harry and your son or your packs, they'll have bureaucratic hell to pay. Not too mention, facing Wizengamot, possible fines, kidnapping charges, alongside a rather long and unpleasant incarceration in Azkaban. Brilliant work on Harry's part I must say."

"Yeah, brilliant," agrees Fenrir as his attention drifts over to the aforementioned wizard gently stroking the chubby cheeks of their newborn son.

"It never ceases to amuse me how everyone assumes Harry is a docile young man that somehow lucked into the position of Head Auror," ponders Shacklebolt, regaining the werewolf's attention. "So when he needs to _remind_ the Ministry exactly who is was that saved them all from Lord Voldemort, I always support him. After all, it is far from advantageous to be on the bad side of one Harry James Potter."

Fenrir is speechless as this side of Harry is revealed to him. At the expression of newfound respect making it's way onto the man's face, Kingsley smiles knowingly.

"Go take care of your family Greyback, I'll handle the Daily Prophet. It's the least I can do."

Letting the Minister do just that, Fenrir goes to join Harry. However he doesn't make it past the doorway as his eyes settle on his family. The wizard is still sitting on the carpeted floor, but now he is resting against the front of his desk. Beyond them, the Minister of Magic keeps onlookers away and addresses a Daily Prophet Reporter that managed to get past the ministry employees patrolling the hallway. Seeing the look of awe on the werewolf's face, Healer Merriweather and her staff leave to give the new parents a few moments alone.

Unaware of the effect he is having on the intimidating werewolf, Harry cuddles his newborn son to his chest watching the small movements the infant makes as he experiences the outside world for the first time. A bright smile is plastered on the wizard's face, despite the painful ordeal he just went through. Snapping out of his trance, Fenrir crosses the room and sits down next to Harry.

"I just can't get over how beautiful he is," comments Harry as his fingers gingerly pet their son's cheek.

"Takes after his carrier."

Blushing at the compliment, Harry subconsciously tucks a loose strand of his own dark locks behind his ear. The jet black color is reflected almost perfectly in their son's soft dusting of baby hair.

"Do you want to hold him?"

The question pulls Fenrir out of his reverie. Blinking in surprise, the werewolf stares at Harry.

"You're offerin'?"

"Fenrir, get over here and hold your son."

The fond exasperation in Harry's voice makes the man chuckle. Gently, their baby is transferred into Fenrir's arms. The infant is no more than a wiggling, squishy thing, perhaps the frailest and most precious thing Fenrir has ever held. With wonder, the man stares down at his first born son as the baby seems to settle into his father's embrace. In that moment, Fenrir instantly and completely forgives everything that Harry has done. After all, this innocent baby, _his son_ , is worth protecting no matter the cost. The man understands with shocking clarity how Harry could do something as drastic as tell him that he has lost their cub. It hadn't been an action done out of cruelty, it had been done out of pure, unconditional love for the baby that Fenrir is now holding in his arms. Everything else, seems to pale in comparison to the new life that Harry has just brought into the world.

"What're we goin' to name him?"

"I don't know," replies Harry honestly as he watches his son drift off to sleep. "We never got a chance to properly discuss it. And it just didn't feel right deciding his name without you."

"Did you have anythin' in mind?" ask the werewolf, smiling as he feels Harry lean into him.

"Nothing really, how about you?"

Fenrir takes but a moment to think before a name comes to mind.

"I like Lorcan."

"Lorcan?"

"It's a good strong name. You don't like it?"

"No, I do, actually," comments Harry, mulling the name around in his mind for a few moments as he gazes as his son. "Lorcan Greyback, do you like that, little guy?"

The dozing baby simply gurgles at the question, making his parents smile at the adorable action.

"Lorcan Greyback- _Potter_ , you mean. There's no reason he can't have both our last names."

Harry grins at that correction as he continues to gaze down at their son. The newborn baby appears to be even more delicate nestled in the thick, muscled forearms of Fenrir Greyback. Although Lorcan doesn't seem to care and only snuggles further into his father's warm embrace.

"Speaking of names, you don't think Lorcan is going to want to call me 'Mum', do you?"

"Dunno, I think it would be cute," replies Fenrir, ignoring the look the comment earns him from his mate. "Do you mind if he does?"

"I admit, it would be a bit odd to hear, but I would let our son call me whatever he chooses. I mean, I did carry him for the last nine months so I am his mother, technically."

At that, both parents watch their son in silence. Lorcan's tiny fingers curl into the soft blanket wrapped around him and gurgles unintelligibly, yet both Harry and Fenrir are completely enraptured with the infant's every movement. The new family simply enjoys the few moments of their intimate silence.

"So," begins Harry, tearing his eyes away from Lorcan to look the werewolf beside him in the eye. "Do you think he'll like camping out in the Russian wilderness with your pack,  Fenrir?"

The peace offering, disguised as a simple inquiry, makes a soft smile tug at the gruff man's lips.

"Probably about as much as he'll like learnin' magic from you and your lot."

Leaning over, Fenrir uses his free hand to tilt the wizard's face towards his. A smirk is the only warning the werewolf gives before he kisses Harry deeply. Not caring one bit for the mediwizards still buzzing around them, Fenrir snakes his arm around the tired wizard and pulls him closer. Harry's soft lips part with ease as he gives into the man's ministrations. However, the dominating kiss is cut short when Harry smiles against his mate's lips.

"Fenrir, I don't think we should be doing this in front of Lorcan," the wizard teases, without making any move away from his mate's affections. "We're parents now, we have to be role models and all that."

"Rubbish. Seein' how this led to the kid, I don't think he'll mind us," grumbles out the man as he leans in to properly finish the kiss he started. All the while, being extremely careful not to wake the sleeping baby.

 

* * *

**~One year later~**

* * *

 

After the birth of their child in the Ministry of Magic, Harry and Fenrir are living quite happily in their cottage just outside Hogsmeade. It has been magically expanded once again to accommodate for a nursery for baby Lorcan as well as "baby proofed" to avoid any accidents. As agreed, the Greyback-Potter family has been spending their time alternating between the isolated cabin and living amongst Fenrir's pack in the warmer seasons. The Russian Taiga, as well as the pack of werewolves, have enthusiastically welcomed Harry and Lorcan as their alpha's mate and child. The new family having nothing to worry about but the overeager packmates that spoil Lorcan rotten. Yet, Fenrir has never felt prouder in his life than when he spent his first full moon with his family among his pack. Lorcan, having taken after his father, transformed for the first time into a black ball of fluff right in Harry's arms.

At the moment, Harry is sitting on the soft rug covering the wooden floor as his baby is sitting up in the nest of his crossed legs. The Hogsmeade cottage is warmed pleasantly by a charmed fire that crackles in the large fireplace. With his wand out, the wizard is keeping a familiar wolf plushie just out of reach from his son's outstretched arms. Cooing excitedly over the floating toy, Lorcan is all smiles.

"And that, Lory, is the levitation spell. _Wingardium Leviosa_. Can you say that?"

"Ahh . . . wa lala la," babbles the baby, reaching for the levitating plush toy before him. The child's bright blue eyes are wide with pure wonder.

A chuckle escapes Harry's lips as he watches his son's renewed efforts to reclaim his favorite stuffed animal.

"Close enough, Sweetheart. Next time, try enunciating."

Lorcan easily catches the stuffed wolf once the spell is released and then immediately tries to put one of its paws into his mouth. Removing the paw with an indulgent smile, Harry almost misses the sound of the front door opening and closing.

"Welcome home, Fenrir."

"Hullo you two."

At the man's deep voice, both Harry and the baby turn their gazes to Fenrir as he walks towards them. The large man doesn't hesitate to join the two on the floor and picks up Lorcan with a broad smile. A squeal of joy leaves the baby's mouth as his father raises him up in the air.

"Papa! Papa!"

"I still can't believe he learned to say 'Papa', first."

"I can," Harry replies with a warm smile. "When I was carrying him, he was the most active around you. I'm sure the second Lory can walk on his own, he'll be following you everywhere trying to be just like his 'Papa'."

Laughing at the image, Fenrir rolls onto his back and lifts the baby into the air. Lorcan squeals in delight as his tiny hands reach towards his father.

"The cub seems excited, what'd you two do today?"

"Well, Hermione came to visit with Rosie," informs Harry, reaching out a hand to run his fingers through his mate's thick hair. "She is getting so big now. I can already tell that Lorcan and Rose are going to be getting into heaps of trouble when they're older."

"Just like you and your friends, eh?"

At the grin on Fenrir's face, Harry smiles in return. The Head Auror is unable to deny that claim.

"Let's just hope that they don't get into quite as much trouble as we did."

"They won't."

The simple reply from the werewolf surprises Harry. Not by the two literal words, but by the absolute certainty in which they are delivered. Fenrir hasn't even shifted his focus from the baby wiggling in his arms, yet the man could instantly sense the direction that the wizard's thoughts were about to travel.

In the past year, "The Boy Who Lived" has had many restless nights obsessed with the thought that his son would have the same start he would in life. Yet oddly enough, Harry finds that he is comforted by the man's resolute declaration—in the same way that Fenrir's embrace would soothe away any of Harry's nightmares. The wizard simply smiles, secure in the knowledge that his werewolf would protect both him and their child from any danger.

And speaking of which . . .

"Fenrir, are you doing anything tomorrow?" asks Harry, glancing down at the man beside him.

"Nope. Why?"

"Well, I was hoping that now that the new laws concerning Magical Creatures and their families have been enacted, we could go into the Ministry of Magic and officially register us as a family. That way no one will be able to separate us and our baby would be protected if something happens to us."

"Sounds good to me, pup."

Relieved by the lack of hesitation to Fenrir's response, Harry is surprised when a thick arm winds around his waist and suddenly pulls him into the man's lap. A few moments later, Lorcan is deposited into Harry's waiting arms as the werewolf's stubbled chin rests on his mate's shoulder.

"I was wondering what was taking you so long to ask," comments Fenrir, his lips right beside Harry's left ear.

"Well, I guess that I wanted to be sure of the baby, first."

Looking down as their infant son, more than content to be seated once again in Harry's lap, Fenrir's gaze returns to Harry's.

"Lorcan seems fine with it."

"Well actually, I was talking about this baby."

Moving one of the man's large hands to his lower belly, Harry smirks knowingly.

"According to Healer Merriweather, I'm eight weeks along now."

Shocked into silence, Fenrir's hand starts to reverently caress the flat abdomen that is housing his second child.

"When did this happen?"

"I'm not exactly sure. Probably sometime after she gave us the all clear to er— _be intimate_ again. Even with Lorcan, we haven't exactly been 'taking it easy' the last year or so."

A lecherous grin steals across Fenrir's face as he remembers that night. Harry had managed to arrange for Scarlett and Derrick to watch Lorcan, giving them a night completely to themselves since their son was born. The twelve hours they had to themselves, Fenrir spent reclaiming his mate— _thoroughly_. And ever since then, well, Fenrir has been making up for lost time.

"I've only known about it for a few days now," continues Harry, not noticing the less-than-proper turn of the werewolf's thoughts. "I was afraid that you already knew since Hermione said that you were able to detect when she was pregnant with Rose. I've been a nervous wreck thinking that you'd figure it out before I got a chance to tell you."

"Females are different, their hormones and scent change drastically once they get pregnant. Werewolf, Human, it doesn't matter, it's all the same. I can't detect your pregnancies the same way, is all. My guess is that since our cubs have some magical help, it's different."

Fenrir's words taper off as he just stares at his mate for a few long moments. His eyes narrow in concentration just before a slow smile stretches across his face.

"What is it?" asks Harry, a bit wary of the leering expression on the man's face.

"Just thinkin'," Fenrir begins, his hand rubbing proudly over the growing baby in his mate's belly. "You're pretty fertile aren't you, pup?"

"It's not my fault you can't keep it in your trousers," Harry replies with a cheeky grin, his arms keeping Lorcan from crawling out of the nest of his and Fenrir's legs.

"I'm a werewolf, it's part of the package," the man replies as he gives a rough lick to the claiming mark on the wizard's throat. "High sex drive and all that, love."

A shiver travels through Harry's body at the intimate contact, temporarily preventing him from answering Fenrir's statement.

"I know, Merlin do I know. Still, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Good, 'cuz I kinda like the idea of havin' a big family with you. Our cub could use a few more siblings."

"I suppose that does sound rather nice," answers Harry with a soft chuckle. "The wizarding world won't know what to do with our children, Fen."

"Mischief managed then."

Smiling at his mate's response, the wizard settles back into the werewolf's embrace. Fenrir can't help but look down at his content family with a sense of peace. Harry softly pets their infant son's hair as he drifts off to sleep. A slightly-wet paw of his plush wolf suspiciously close to Lorcan's tiny mouth as his parents reach up to share a loving kiss.

 

* * *

**THE END!**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoyed this story as much as I have had fun writing it(As well as my little sketch of the happy family)! Originally, this was an experiment with a new fandom, and I am happy to say that it has continued to be an awesome experience. I plan to add to the fandom in the future, but at this time I can't give any concrete time frame. 
> 
> And yes, I chose Lorcan as a name for the baby(I liked it and also liked the fact that it's the canon name of one of Luna Lovegood's sons). His full name is Lorcan James Greyback-Potter(a mouthful, but I like it).
> 
> Technically, this story is all wrapped up but I may add a bonus chapter(deleted scene)*Check back in a few days*
> 
> ANNOUNCEMENT: I will be posting some stories that are new to Ao3(feat. Chase Young/Jack Spicer, Vlad Masters/Danny Fenton, and a few more Fenrir/Harry one shots) as well as brand new stories(feat. Anthro!Smaug/Bilbo Baggins, Sesshomaru/Kouga, Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby, Hellboy/John Myers, and Ardeth Bay/Jonathan Carnahan). So, if any of you are into those pairings, please keep an eye out for them!
> 
> Anyways, until the next fanfic ^_^
> 
> LATER DAYS!


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